you don't have to be pretty
or be beautiful physically
or be great at
anything you love....

as long as you're there
for me to see
and lean on
once every often

and by knowing that you
care and hold me close
to your heart
once every often
i know i can
live life
well
enough.

and again, the gritty path,
for visiting the houses, ruined.
time fled and life stood still,
strangled in suspension points.

i come, to collect lonesomeness,
feed my senses upon bygones.

window sills to inner spaces.
motherhood.

there, the place of a fire,
the grime inks a flame in black,
silhouetted.

crock pots, iron pots,
cracked, bumped.
soup. boiling.smoking.
cendrillons wrinkling
by the fireplace
in yellowished orange blossom gowns.

a skeleton of a bed.

leaning roof.

a wall in blue.

the view from the back window.
the door to the backyard.

houses grow blind.
i come
to lend them my eyes.
willingly.

eventually they'll have me,
bind me, seed me,
a tree-creeper to sight
the swallows, tell them
we have a vacant eave
in a falling roof.

She was wild like skinny dipping at midnight, stars watching overhead and falling in love with moonlight. The way it lay upon her skin made the ocean envious of her depths within and sometimes between us. She was my sister, not in blood but in orbit. A Venus to my Earth, forged from the same collapsing star and if the universe was in fact to be infinite then this moment would happen again, and again, and again an immeasurable number of times. I found comfort in this thought, knowing though our existence was meaningless, it was still full of feeling, and this feeling, right now, it insisted on existing forever.

they told me
it would be too late
to see the midnight stars

and they told me
not to wait because
the stars would never change

and they shamed me
when i did not budge
but sat with my friend Hope

yet now i am grown
and perhaps i should tell them
that at midnight
the stars proved them wrong

It was one of those beautiful days of august.
We lay in the meadow with flowers in our hair.
It smelled of spring, although it was summer.
The world around us was peaceful, just for one day.
Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to worry about.
We laughed and sang.

It was one of those beautiful days in august, before autumn came.

Kiss me until
all the metaphors
vanish and poetry
becomes reality.

  ~mce