On a fleeting February morning
Seconds pass like icicles
And as I stop to listen to their steady drip
Those seconds seem to slowly slip
Away
Immeasurable, finite mornings full of
Infinite calculated risks.
Life weaving 'round my fingertips
Electricity, in my hands and my heart
Feeble panics and anxious starts
What, exactly, is love?
A painter's elegant brushstrokes, as tender and careful as
Or
A passionate song, the percussion mirroring the rapid heartbeat of
Or
Something as simple as a question
Sent to two phones.
There's a comfort in being alone.
You don't have to worry about breaking hearts
No nervous texts
Or ginger starts.
But
Everyone can hear the song.
Everyone can see the painting.
Anyone could read this poem.
Blank verse, freeform, enigmatic.
Confused.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 9:09 AM UTC
On a fleeting February morning
Seconds pass like icicles
And as I stop to listen to their steady drip
Those seconds seem to slowly slip
Away
Immeasurable, finite mornings full of
Infinite calculated risks.
Life weaving 'round my fingertips
Electricity, in my hands and my heart
Feeble panics and anxious starts
What, exactly, is love?
A painter's elegant brushstrokes, as tender and careful as
Or
A passionate song, the percussion mirroring the rapid heartbeat of
Or
Something as simple as a question
Sent to two phones.
There's a comfort in being alone.
You don't have to worry about breaking hearts
No nervous texts
Or ginger starts.
But
Everyone can hear the song.
Everyone can see the painting.
Anyone could read this poem.
Blank verse, freeform, enigmatic.
Confused.
Exploring love is the most terrifying / most reassuring thing I have ever done. Nice to know I'm not alone.
Sorry for my absence all. I lost my voice for a while. I'll try to be more active.
As always,
Keep Writing
-S.C.
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