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claire-eliza-1Poems
His thin shoulders, Dutch nose the hair at his temples is grayer than when we met five years ago. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. My love for him is a ships in the night love. We circle, cutting separate pathways through a vast ocean, on course for something something that keeps us signaling onward, onward. We look to the past privately but do not speak of it. The times our bodies touched. I count them (I think he also does.) One: the way I used to graze his arm with my hand Two: an accident, swaying with music, too close Three: drunk with the courage to kiss one another Four: sweat, bed, the sun rose and I held his hand at the door Five: years later, a hug that lingered, the times we are allowed to touch one another, hellos and goodbyes, in cars and trains. We continue to pass one another. And when we talk, we talk and laugh and I feel a churning of waters, a warm ocean swell that says: this is it! Hold this. The tide runs out, Ships press forward on prescribed routes through blind oceans.
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Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
My ships in the night love:
His thin shoulders, Dutch nose the hair at his temples is grayer than when we met five years ago. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. My love for him is a ships in the night love. We circle, cutting separate pathways through a vast ocean, on course for something something that keeps us signaling onward, onward. We look to the past privately but do not speak of it. The times our bodies touched. I count them (I think he also does.) One: the way I used to graze his arm with my hand Two: an accident, swaying with music, too close Three: drunk with the courage to kiss one another Four: sweat, bed, the sun rose and I held his hand at the door Five: years later, a hug that lingered, the times we are allowed to touch one another, hellos and goodbyes, in cars and trains. We continue to pass one another. And when we talk, we talk and laugh and I feel a churning of waters, a warm ocean swell that says: this is it! Hold this. The tide runs out, Ships press forward on prescribed routes through blind oceans.
claire-eliza-1
Written by
claire-eliza-1
29/American
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
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