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Volver y volver a perder mis dedos en tu cabellera, volver  a contraer y volver a perder la calma cuando la calma es lo que se necesita para volver al momento cero en que te conocí. Volver y volver a los días cuando la respuestas a mis insistencias fueron no, queriendo decir sigue intentándolo que volveré amar, volveré a donde el amor no es utópico.

Querer ser lo que no era una opción en su momento, momento en que querer ya no era opción, Querer estar en el punto medio del inicio cuando nos presentaron el uno al otro y se marcó el final de dos soledades.
Así como se dice: Quién no espera nada no se decepciona”. Yo digo: Que uno sabe reconocer lo mejor cuando lo peor era lo único que se conocía.

Con una mirada, me di un viaje al interior de eso que estaba resguardado, lo nunca visto: la profundidad de lo que estaba a la superficie; La hermosura latente.
Y en un atardecer: Tus ojos mirando hacia el mar, los míos a la luna, tú aroma en mi camisa, mi mano en tu pelo, tú pelo sobre mi hombro, mi hombro sosteniendo cabeza  y mi corazón como bailando a la par con el tuyo.

Todo parece utópico, pero no lo es…
 Sep 2013 Shay Ruth
Katie Conner
A one way love can never thrive
It needs reciprocation

And so in order to survive
My loves needs affirmation

So throw your caution to the sky
And let your heart command

You will find that it will not deny
A love which must expand

Come now, come to me with open arms
And sweep me off my feet

And then display for me your charms
To make my love complete

My one way love will terminate
Without your inspiration

So therefore, please reciprocate
With no more hesitation
 May 2013 Shay Ruth
August
I like a man with fire in his bones
And where his head should be,
There is a home.

And I wax and wane like the moon
If you turn away you might miss me,
I'll be gone soon.
© Amara Pendergraft

I'm gone with the morning.
 May 2013 Shay Ruth
Tom Orr
Through this song I am
where my mind was in a panic,
my heart was in a knot,
its drum long gone.
Fateful delirium
like unearthing a grave,
one covered with purposeful seal,
now bonded to chaos.
These pangs are the wind
of a flute, poisoning the lungs.
Heartless pandemonium,
back you go
under lock and key.
 May 2013 Shay Ruth
August
You are a bloomin' kiss,
I wouldn't want to miss this.
Dancing around the room,
Circling the lovely moon.
Hand in cool hand,
We'll dance and dance and dance.
Kiss me until I fall away,
*'Till I'm nothing but foamy waves.
And I'll wait for you where the sand meets the grass.
Under the stars.

© Amara Pendergraft 2013
 Apr 2013 Shay Ruth
August
The Dawn
 Apr 2013 Shay Ruth
August
It's funny,
Ever since I met you,
My bed feels so empty.
And I'm laying here,
In an oversized shirt,
And nothing else.
Smelling of soap and skin.
Wishing to taste your lips.
To rub my cheek against yours.
Breathe in every breath you take.
And I've never even seen your face.

*The Dusk
© Amara Pendergraft
Sun lips, I remember it clearly:
We found each other on the shore.
You told me something I could not hear
Then you retreated quietly,
Gently tiptoeing back over the water
Little splashes here and there
Falling little flickers and flashes
Drops of glowing red
Dipped in plasma
Burning my skin as I chase your shadow
Feet falling through, you Jesus lizard
Where did you go?
If to travel a straight line means to chase a ghost
And if to stare at the sun is to go blind
So be it.
And you said something about butterflies
But you knew only moths follow the light.
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
 Apr 2013 Shay Ruth
Natasha Sim
She is saying goodbye
to an old friend.
Discordant telephone cord
pulls itself away
as mosquitoes emasculate;
warm summer night.
Her voice lingers in the humidity
perspiration
drips, slides;
empty whispers.

Crickets and cicadas circa 1947,
running through fields at midnight
riding the bike pass the gallows
that was Uncle Mike's,
tender breeze through hair
like a mother's stroke.
Shoe soles stomping cigarette buds
in haste,
driving through cliffs
diving into continuum (then)
holding out for whatever comes.
No more.

All is left—
rustling leaves
sepia tinted photographs
tattered edges;
reminiscences of warm summer nights
retold to a child.
 Apr 2013 Shay Ruth
Tru Baker
I'm sitting in the bed with one
thinking of the other
thinking of all the futures that could be
can be
if I just jump
if things just are
the things I'll say
the things I'll need to say
to love the one I love
as keenly as I loved the one I love.

How right is right and how much does right matter?
What is right and what is wrong and how much does it matter?
Is time the judge or is time the test?

my heart is a flipflop hopeless romantic,
rolling on through dreams of ideal days.
Almost kisses, almost brushes, almost moments, almost futures.
Real things, ephemeral things,
things that grasp, things that hold,
such sand between thinning fingers.

He is perfect, he is perfect.
One in one way.
The other in another.

Who do I choose for the future?

Who am I?
Who am I meant to be?
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