Grief is a misty-eyed mistress, her face soft with sadness
Its one thousand fingers and palms meeting each other
creating a thunder so loud in my being that i can't think straight.
Grief is a five letter word, one of them an "i" none of them "u"
a night full of stars in my brain working out the equation of the exact point when a person with a brain and a favorite song, food, and movie becomes nothing more then broken biased memories and a pile of bones.
Sleep crusted eyes and a bottle of jim bean,
cracked plates and an infinity of kitchen tables.
what an empty chest, hard exhale feeling
when the ghosts of your charcoal smudged fingers trace my eyelids and forehead like a canvas of your own creation
but then sometimes,
i can close my eyes and feel myself waist-deep in the calmest ocean,
my fingertips skimming the warm water, eyes closed, the sun setting on my bare back
a smile spreads ear to ear and cracks my salty lips
peace
im confused on what to do with the collection of rain drops and lightning gathering in my open palms
so i take my hands, tip them over, and let them
*drop