you, an ever-changing evergreen – are
lovelier than yesterday’s morning rain, and
more curious than tomorrow’s budding lilacs.
lost, i find myself in your lively touch.
my pain, the mirror i peer into when i pick up a pen;
i smooth my hair, wipe the snow dust from the corners of my eyes, say a prayer.
am i a vessel of love and devotion?
or simply, am i a constant sea of fault
left bruised – bruised like rotten fruit that has fell from the tree.
if i could meet your gaze, instead of
dreaming in verses,
i would press my fingers to yours
and all but flinch at your needles
as they ***** my skin.
i envy nothing about your days – dim, even when the sun dresses in her sunday best –
except, that your immortal wisdom
is a sunset i will never see:
like a clockmaker with no sense of time,
like a bodyguard with no inner strength.
my hobby – collecting comparisons:
lining up metaphors like calendar days.
words cannot mend your pain like they mend mine

poetry moves my mountains, but will never move yours

you, an ever-constant evergreen – are
lovelier than tomorrow’s starry sky, but
trapped. if i could meet your gaze,
i would close my eyes