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I wanted to do more
than to blanket your form
in a cloak, to surround
your marble shape.

I've bled dry
a heart, I've resigned
to the leech of love,
while rinsing my hands
in your charity.

If I could go
into that hole,
with you, to be unified
in the safety of what
is forever petrified,
I'll be red, again,
I'll be whole, again.

I'll be what I cannot be
without you,
to accompany me.
Full poem: https://romances.blog/2025/02/11/poem-from-fate-to-marble-2-11-2025/
Nothing rose from
a garden, as bleak as
the weather that never
melted our skin,
without permission.

We just lifted our agony
to the wind that cut
our flesh, into ribbons.

A celebration, in pain,
savoring those moments
we kissed in the rain.
Full poems: https://romances.blog/2025/02/11/poem-the-color-of-storms-2-11-2025/
Peter Wyatt Feb 5
We've been waiting
while giving each other
much-needed space,
disclosing secrets
in rooms full of dust.

We've been spilling
what's left in our eyes
onto floors that turned red,
bloodshot with our sight
that burns, that stares.

This will get better,
for us to bloom under
all we've been crowding
in our heads, to keep
wondering when.
Full poem: https://romances.blog/2025/02/04/poem-this-gets-better-2-4-2025/
Peter Wyatt Feb 4
Living in reverse,
rewriting our love
in careless verse,
denying all that died
in between sacred seconds
we were able to cry.

I want us to crawl
back to that hole
all our shadows
ever put us.

Even if all we do
is lie to the sun,
become blind to light,
perhaps the darkness,
just the darkness
understands us.
Full poem: https://romances.blog/2025/02/03/poem-the-way-we-rewind-2-3-2025/
Peter Wyatt Jan 13
A space had opened,
as your feet were brought
down into an expanse,
of murderous, cold water.

What can I do
other than watch
your form, going under
both rapids and wilderness?
I had begun to bury
a heart into a plot
of protected earth.

I had begun to conceal
painful memories,
drawn beautifully.

I had begun to flee
where our storms
were gathering.

You were always wanting
to pull that plug
to recreate the darkness,
all while we might
seek a different source
of mystical light.

To feathers, inside of
pillows with their
depressions, from heads
worrying on the next
flawed second,
even in dreams.

To a lightness, I may
find a place where peace
rides on a horse,
towards a sunrise.
Peter Wyatt Dec 2024
Love tore me open
to those sounds,
emitted from her throat.
Love cleaned wounds,
though left scars
as countless as stars.

I just wanted her to breathe.

I just wanted her to see
that such a weight needn't be
what she needs to
drag to another sunset.

If she could ever
raise her gentle head,
she would have seen
it was instead a sunrise.
Peter Wyatt Dec 2024
Untying myself,
rewiring my mind
after I've been
burning to keep
this sundered form
from disbelieving.

We wanted what
we never revisited,
choosing instead
to seek silence
under a moon,
under the sun
during noon.

Hope has died,
after trembling hands
have clutched a number
of faded roses.

Both of us,
both invisible,
neither beautiful,
were once waiting
near a window
stained with time.

What is there
to return to,
once we have
said our farewell
to the last teardrop?
The teardrops
that have formed
rivers to follow.

What else is there
to live for, while we
are far too busy
removing the dagger
from our hearts?
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