She would tell me on amber evenings beneath the waiting sky
That she was my only moon, orbiting my edges
Like a well orchestrated love song,
Suspense in desiring to touch what she could only see.
She may be able to eclipse all light,
Be the only thing I long for at night
But there are others out there
Who will fill this space between us,
And in her face it shows
That each night is closer to her last.
The butterfly catchers net sat silently on a bed of frost,
Crisp catches of colour reflecting the Spring sun,
Lines of emerald to grace the walls of a London home.
Like dreams they lay still, an untouched memory.
An easy ****, gently executed and put to rest
To be remembered in the evening light
On a gentleman's windowsill.
Feminists keep fighting the butterfly catcher
"Do you still love me?" she whispered in my ear,
"How can I love a girl who is no longer here?"
She picked strawberries with her teeth,
Red stains on lips blushed by the sweet taste
Of ripe fruit; her fingers clean
Brushed over me with delicate anticipation
Lifting the loose fabric of a summer dress
And I heard her confess her love
Through saying everything
Yet nothing at all.
Actions speak louder than words.
I cannot escape the particles of light that shimmer on her skin,
Glowing embers dancing where my fingertips have been.
The coffee cup grows empty, and her weary eyes meet mine
And for a moment I lose myself completely
Intoxicated with her sunrise*.
"I am not ok", she said,
"Two letters cannot possibly explain
The pain that resides in my heart.
There is not enough ink to begin
Describing what is within.
Find me a word that is real".
You cannot capture my heart
When it is already kept in a cage