Someone asked me to describe home and I almost said your name but I kept quiet instead, people expect you to say a **** place but I felt more home in your arms than I ever did in my own house.

Why do we feign such rapturous delight,
in pretence to others that all is alright,
what if the soul is quietly suppressed,
cloaked in darkness, hidden and repressed,

Are we ashamed to drape the veil,
to retreat into darkness and embrace the pale,
truth can be found from deep in a frown,
so why wear the clothes and tears of a clown.

© H V Swan

Two months ago you told me my hair smelled like flowers, and today I saw you stepping on a rose.

Is a home a place or a feeling?
I feel like an outcast in my own skin
and I can't even find the words to begin
to describe how your eyes are warmer
than any bed sheet I've ever known.
My mouth betrayed me,
I never know what to say.
But if I found the strength to say
just one thing,
I'd say, 'please don't leave me.'
You're the only door I ever want to open.

the images of us being together flash through my mind.
My soul yearns to be closer to yours.
You will never know me as anything more than me,
but I will always know you as my world.

I always loved your mouth,
the way it would kiss.
The way your lips curved up
in a half smirk that left me breathless,
yet the same mouth I loved
I grew to hate,
because your breath
was laced with lies
and broken promises.
You were the only thing I ever wanted.

I wish I had something poetic
to describe the physical ache in my chest
when I think back to when our fingers would entwine
the same way our bodies would,
or the way your eyes gleamed with such passion
when talking about something you love.
And it hurts
knowing I remember so much,
and you remember so little
if any at all.