258

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons—
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes—

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are—

None may teach it—Any—
’Tis the Seal Despair—
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air—

When it comes, the Landscape listens—
Shadows—hold their breath—
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death—

you show me yours, i'll show you mine
feels like we travelled back in time
but these private parts, just journal lines
and far more delicate than our young minds

what is this unspoken play
does speaking make it fade away?
are we spilling secrets, will you stay
or am i projecting, hoping you feel the same?

did i read this wrong
or was i right all along?
maybe i'm coming on too strong,
as desperate as the day is long

if i love you and you love me too
then what could telling each other do?
i promise i don't want anything from you
nothing but the honest truth

the birds are whistling
twittering their tranquil
morning song,

it's 4 AM and i am imagining us
sitting on the forest floor of Trentham
with sunbeams bathing us
from between the trees

i feel at peace when i
hold a piece of you inside my mind;

nature's soundtrack lulls me
and my only wish
is that you'd be here
to listen with me.

darling, you're so beautiful
like the sunrise
creeping through the leaves

the light that brings an end to
the darkness, and
fights off the cold
with its gentle warmth,

and you give me life
the way water nourishes plants;
i feel like i can blossom when i'm with you

you're so incredible,
so genuinely unforgettable
just holding your hand

would mend broken pieces of my soul.
beautiful being
how'd you get so lost?

i'll give everything i've got
to lead you back home.
you're not alone.

it sounds like planes taking flight,
like foreboding,
like a hoard of wasps,
and then it breaks into melody;
it went from storming winds
to a spa reception
meditation:
inhale, exhale

dull these sharp edges,
take me out of my head;
i can see you
laid out on white cotton sheets,
your dark hair fanned
against the pillows on my bed.
no, i don't want to
do anything,
other than lie with you,
feel your warmth and...

i look at you and
tears brim these tired eyes.
insomnia's an artist
painting shadows on my lids,
but you reach out
and brush your fingertips against my cheek;
suddenly i'm alive,
your watercolours vibrant on my skin;
i'm overflowing with emotion
but you make it feel okay
to drown,
to let it in.

you'll never have any idea
of how much i think about you
i think, maybe, i would feel guilty
if i knew how to
but i don't do remorse,
just as you don't do...
well. this.
any of this.
try not to, anyway

things don't always
work out
the way we plan;
but it's okay,
we can make more plans
together, somehow
because you promised me you'd live
and i swore i'd do the same.