there is so much midnight about her
It coils into her hair
Into her ivory smile
I could look at the sky and back into her eyes and not know the difference
she is five am in a saturday that you arch closer to; roll over just to look at because you like the view
she is the space between winter and fall when the leaves are confused as to who they are
wrapped up in violent reds and proud golds
hovering on the branches forcing the world to
freeze
demand a moment to look at how vibrant they are
she is the pause
She is holding my breath listening for her heart beat like a baseline
she is making a garden out of me
lilies blooming in my chest
in a field of I dont know what to do about the gardener taking residence in my heart
or what to do about the barbed wire roses she gives her and how foolishly she takes them
she is consumed with a dollar store bouquet of “I love you”
trying to wrap sunrise around a dark road with far too many houses and too few homes
why wont she come home?
I would plant lilies across her collarbone instead of iron roses
we’d sit on the floor and I’d teach her how to write I love you again
without the comma
without the but
or relash conversations and expectation
or maybe how to write how beautiful she is
rewrite all of the stars back into her midnight eyes.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
there is so much midnight about her
It coils into her hair
Into her ivory smile
I could look at the sky and back into her eyes and not know the difference
she is five am in a saturday that you arch closer to; roll over just to look at because you like the view
she is the space between winter and fall when the leaves are confused as to who they are
wrapped up in violent reds and proud golds
hovering on the branches forcing the world to
freeze
demand a moment to look at how vibrant they are
she is the pause
She is holding my breath listening for her heart beat like a baseline
she is making a garden out of me
lilies blooming in my chest
in a field of I dont know what to do about the gardener taking residence in my heart
or what to do about the barbed wire roses she gives her and how foolishly she takes them
she is consumed with a dollar store bouquet of “I love you”
trying to wrap sunrise around a dark road with far too many houses and too few homes
why wont she come home?
I would plant lilies across her collarbone instead of iron roses
we’d sit on the floor and I’d teach her how to write I love you again
without the comma
without the but
or relash conversations and expectation
or maybe how to write how beautiful she is
rewrite all of the stars back into her midnight eyes.
