I like how her eyelids slowly close ever so gently, as if those words could be forever inked into the pockets of her mind.

Oh, the way he breathes in at times, it's like he tries to inhale the words through his slightly chapped lips into the airways and then

into the staircases to *nowhere.

The way your voice sounded 357 pages ago,
a sweet cut across on wintry darkness; flitting out were all the stars.

The little husky notes living in the
b r e a t h i n g s p a c e s
of
your lungs and mouth to lips are like bookmarks.

I never quite lost the page I stopped at.
I dare not read on.

There is an inexplicable magic
- sweet & short; the bitten back lips sort of pain-
something imbued with time.

For it survived through the silent deafening tick-rocks.
Little silvers and wisps of yellowed newspaper ink tailor itself in your cold coat pockets.

Oh yes,
dust-motes, blood & teardrops lay between its spaces.
But, it is still there.
Right between your seemingly fragile fingertips.

You're here now, make it count.

wRiting
           hElps
                      Lighten
      thE
         loAd,
wordS
                    Escape

When I asked you to fix me,
You told me I wasn't broken.
But, let this soak in.
I just wanted to know,
If i was still a pretty enough picture to be worth, agonizing over a puzzle.
Even when it's a struggle.
And you have to nuzzle each piece into place,
Kissing the pieces bent out of shape,
Searching for pieces gone missing,
But you can't make a raisin back into a grape.
Yes, I Remember your middle name
And who says we can't celebrate failure?
Don't be sad, we tried, we tried.
When you write your story in the sand it washes away with the tide.
It isn't our fault.
We may have cut ourselves open, But we didn't ask for the salt in our
wounds
Can I still say "we"?
I guess you're kind of done with me.
I don't blame you, Puzzles are frustrating.
they're a tease.
Please, tell me I haven't lost the most important piece.
Tell me I haven't lost
you.

© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn