Sarah

Sarah May 2016

In candlelight and
turpentine and a
flask half
empty

in a blanket and your
coat because the
late-spring nights
are chilly

reading a book about
Lobotomy

I'd wait through empty beds
and empty Mays
empty flasks and
empty minds;
I'd wait
for you.

Sarah May 2016

Restless

I've written poems
so many times I should
be sick of them

and the amount of coffee
I've drank,
I should hate it by now

and the number of times
I've laid on your
side,
under your
arm,
stuck to your
hip,
I should be restless in
that space
but

instead I can't subdue
my love of poetry
and coffee,
your side, your arms, your hip,
in love with you.

Sarah May 2016

A Sound Called

Lightening whispers
and thunder cracks
I don't know the resonance of
black

the rain chit-chats
and the rivers sing
I do not hear a voice in
spring

I am silent
and you're outspoken
I don't remember a sound called
heartbroken.

Sarah May 2016

A Night Poem.

When the world is quiet
and the street lights are
gold
there aren't enough words for the
stories I've heard

When the sun is descending
and the lamps flicker
on
there aren't enough minutes to
talk until dawn

When the sky is an ink spot
and the stars are
revealed
there aren't enough words to
explain how
I feel.

Sarah May 2016

Three.

The moment between
the end of your
cigarette and the
clutch of
your knuckles

the three inches of time
of inhales and
exhales

the moment between the
ash and
your inspire:

where you're standing outside,
and I'm in your
coat
for three minutes,
three inches,
a cigarette,
I have
you.

Sarah May 2016

Sea Hands

Your hands are
the sea,
mysterious,
relentless,
and a silver
shade of blue.

Sarah May 2016

Rogue Wave.

I'm sitting in a
ship,
at sea-
slowly letting my
pale skinned legs
be carried like
a buoy

my eyes need time to
adjust to
you and
all of the sea-sun that you
bring

I now understand
the seagull's cry,
the starboard's run,
how my fears are a
bigger mast than
my longings
and that
waiting for a
Rogue wave
won't change the
direction that
I'm going.