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Parked Car Outside the Beginning

From dreams of

a future

I keep locked away in a journal,

I'll meet every

smiling tomorrow

holding secrets of my own

ambitions

that reach out with warm hands towards the

inhibitions of

every setting sun.

and

I find the mark of my own realization in these

clasping grasping hands that search

so desperately

for completion

folding into praying hands

until fingers intertwine within

their own realities of

finally brushing across skin of

heart

pounding

heart

pounding

 

understanding

 

all these hands ever had to know was that

 

their own palms could heal sorrows

while holding promises pressed against

another,

 

your etched life lines from the

waters of your

mother's womb

completing the rivers that flow across mine

so we can float into the ocean of

soul

 

and as the same light pours over

my blinds

to softly coax open

eyes that

only know the darkness of sleep,

 

only know

the safety in shadows dancing before closed

eyelids

 

I drown in the remembrance,

of how

after we kissed,

the street lamps danced upon your cherub cheeks

until my own eyes reflected

constellations of potential

and yours

exploded into

guiding stars.

 

guiding this

searching hand into yours grasping for the clouds

knowing

 

they were only grasping for each other

to feel

the tenacious shell of our fingertips graze

and form

a sheltering place to retreat

when the floods pour out from

the vase of the fading flowers we gave to

our past selves.

 

I was leveled

by your shining beauty

the marvel of you

reflecting heaven

as a nervous

anxious smile

stretched across your lips

and reached up towards the twilight

in your

eyes

offering up an embrace

as hearts raced and

walked across water

to defy secular

existence.

 

that was the first moment

I saw the wings you never knew existed

 

 

and that night

words never needed to dance within the

darkness of

that parked car.

the warm air forming

waterfalls of honesty

between our mouths

kissed the brisk air

forming mist on windows

 

 

we've drawn the path

into a new garden

blossoming sunflowers

from the light

of our lips

to

be picked by your now

 

complete hands.

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s
Written by
stephanie-hayden
American
Published
Feb 6, 2010
Lines·Words
96·357
Notes

copyright 2010 by Stephanie Hayden

Permission

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