I write subtleties,
Thoughts that randomize in the wee of the morning,
The lover longing for something past its expiration date,
The curtain billowing in the breeze of the dark,
Fingertips reaching blindly for hems coming undone.
Bits and pieces to pluck away,
In the wee of the  morning,
When thoughts randomize.

One day, you’ll fall deeply and irrevocably in love
with the nape of the neck and the lobe of the ear
you’ll want to nibble just above the edge of the jaw
and run your fingers through the tousled spirally hair,
but the slight quiver of curved lips will halt you in thoughts
as the darting pupils furtively flutter behind closed eyelids
searching for a break of dawn in the shadows of a room
where dust hangs heavily then settles in unsuspecting lungs
making the rise and fall of the chest raspy and laborious,
making nostrils flare up to make room for something less heavy
something more familiar, more light and less lugubrious,
something like a touch on the curve of the neck just below
the edge of the jaw and a whisper of something gentle
that nibbles on the ear as erring fingers run through spirally hair,
sending waves of shivers that make curved lips quiver and
darting pupils flutter enough to one day break open closed eyelids
where you’ll fall deeply and irrevocably in love.

Your smile is like a butterfly
with wings of different colors,
Your laugh; bright and ever-changing,
Your skin--soft as cotton and smooth as silk,
And as I caress your head like that of a baby's,
With your head lying on my arms,
I could feel my heart beating all the while.
And all I could think of was how beautiful you are.
And if yours was beating as hard as mine.
With future worries no longer in mind.
My mind is trapped in this moment in time,
Wishing it could last forever,
With no end, for all eternity.

Here I am, in the middle of the night.
The wind, cold; the room, silent.
My eyes, blinded by the white light,
reading words that formed images of the past.

Words that I wrote.
Memories that I sought.
Sought I did, not to forget.
but to remember.

It was painful. Once.
But not anymore. No longer.
Now I smile, upon the beauty of naivety. Immaturity.
But most of all:
Love.

Words built upon childish love.
The little kid who thought,
he knew Pure Love.
But it was merely a whim.
A desire.
A choice.

He dove head-on,
without knowing anything at all.
And that he did, and he was
full of joy.

That's why he did not cry.
He did not even try.
He only felt cold. Empty.
Because he knew he lost something.
Something he held dearly.

And so, I lingered. 'Till now.
It's time to formally close that chapter.
And for new memories,
I shall wander.

and even when I love you
I still hate you
for what you did to me

or do I just hate myself
for never being able to let it go

and as the paranoia creeps in
settling between my *******
the hollow of my throat tightens
with weak and shallowed breaths
my legs, they shake and shiver
under the extreme duress
of not knowing if again his love will wander
leaving me a foolish mess

I don't know if I ever want to have my poems
immortalized in a book, to sit on some shelf untouched
a reminder printed on blank pages; my love, and my pain
organized into pretty poetic arrangements for other's viewing pleasure
for strangers to know me that intimately on a level I barely understand
I can't comprehend--

my love, and my pain, indeed
the love I have is beautiful, and worth sharing with the world
but I dont know if I could immortalize the pain it has caused me to love so throughly
so completely have I given myself over to everything
followed the winding paths through heartache and back;
I would much rather forget them here, forget the past

She rolls along the high wires
Tightrope walkin' moon
She graces life's big circus
She is gone too soon

Huge! A glowing fairie
So luminous! So bright!
She's suspended on the ropes
The performer of the night!

I watch her intently
As she's held aloft
Then she slips toward the hills...
... she is fallin' off!

But she bows down and curtseys!
A smile on her face
She's lost not her dancer's poise,
She maintains her grace.

Finally she exits
The horizon sets the stage
She is only a faint glow
The night has turned the page.

I'll remember her with fondness
As she danced to Claire de Lune...
In her sequined tutu

Tightrope walkin' moon.


SøułSurvivør
8/26/2018