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Renée May 23
The yellow spider the size of my eyelash
Walks the lines of my palm
a shadow, an almost-
spectral soul
To be a human—we lament—
is a rather ill-fated way
to survive these wintral
I could have been a spindly
mark amid Spring grass
But I am with flesh
And a bleeding
life force—heart
And still, with yours against my own
in this embrace.
Renée Feb 16
of joy is in its trusted end
today I walk home and the sun lows itself beneath the white earth
a bird chirps in the solemn tree
the tragedy is in the knowing, in that
the brown-winged bird will migrate down and never come back—in that
the song will end
I see in your face but an instant unmeasured joy
and also,
that bird will die
and we will always say goodbye

our love (in held hands, in
enraptured dance),
like lost language dies—
the letters, rose in my cupboard
Polaroid I’ll keep (of you yesterday)
of interim element
belonging to the earth, and so do you

and I—
will imagine you approaching me
one day when you’re not here

today I will not have to imagine the laughing eyes, the curve of the nose, the cheek against my face, your whisper to me that your love is mine
today and always and always and always
today my fingers touch yours, and I trust
with baited breath
in unpromised tomorrow.

(and like a fool replay the
for a chance that we exist beyond
the refrain)
Renée Feb 5
in your letter you said, "I never knew a love like this"
my darling, to me it was of ill-use before I met you
we're on the train to the city and you're watching my eyes flutter into blue
you share your earbuds and play your ASMR and Norah Jones and
today you let me hold you like a baby, like the way you sometimes do
I love watching tv with you
I love your face, your lovely, perfect face
and everything you do
I can't wait until you're home
I never knew how it felt to love and be loved until I
knew you
Renée Feb 2
there’s a poem in the hands you touch me with
song notes every evening from your lips

I wish that I hadn’t quit writing in my diary
because I don’t recall the date of the night that you first told me this
or which day of the week it was in August
but I will remember how you brushed my hair back from my ear,
hushed the buzz of summer nights so that I’d hear—
how my heart in the split second that followed,
kept its habit till your beat caught up to me
your low-lit face a song I’d hummed
forever without knowing
    and I’ll remember then, how you
    traced your lips across my skin that it might also feel your love

they say there’s poetry in the last snow of prosaic months
and although I miss the chirping summer sparrow,
the skies that set in lilac after storms
I know you’ll keep your whisper in my ear tonight
that I won’t miss,
“I love you more”
for my love
Renée Nov 2022
Not a poem, but
He's just that kind of person
That you don't want to let go
The one to smile when you need to see it
Hug you tight when you feel unloved
Gently kiss imperfections, like they belong to you and
you belong to God
He's the kind of friend to laugh at everybody's jokes
He's the kind of person everybody hopes to know,
and I'll admit that though I don't deserve him, I want him for my own
He says "it's okay to cry" and touches his fingers to my tears
Until they melt away like snow
Renée Nov 2022
on the second snow of the year i came over to your house
(your home has quite nearly become my own)
you smiled and left your desk and laid
your head on me
and i didn't think about microscopic troubles
because they didn't exist
in the midst of snowfall and an internet crash
or even in a measly monsoon
i was just wondering if this was happiness
if this was happiness
if this was happiness
Renée Nov 2022
to me, you carry the scent
of birthday candle smoke.
your eyes firelit with
facile wishes
and I'm the match you long
to foment forever
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