I found true love,
not in another heartbeat

But in the way the stars and moon contrast against the midnight sky

the smell of pine trees and damp dirt
On a rainy day

The sound of birds chirping in the early morning

The way the waves of the ocean reflect the light of the stars on a lonely night

The crows on the telephone lines
Because although they are plain
There are times when less is more
And there's beauty in simplicity

The setting sun,
Because the swirling pinks, oranges, purples and yellows
Remind you of a sorbet,
And sorbets remind you of the times when you used to go out as a family for ice cream

The late night car rides with people you no longer know
But it doesn't matter because everyone's laughing and smiling,
And at that moment everything feels right
All troubles and worries exhaled with the smoke
And nobody cares if they died tonight

The silence at two in the morning when everything is still,
And you're dancing in the middle of the empty road
Because the night is yours and for the first time,
in a long time
You don't want to die

I found true love,
Not in another heartbeat
But in the idea,
That there is more
to this life.

If I hug you tighter, will I imprint you in my arms?
So I can carry you with me,
past the heavens,
past the rain,
past the pain.

I’ll hold your every ache on my back,
till I turn to cosmic dust.
When I seize to exist,
is the only time you can leave me in the mist.

I know that’s selfish of me,
but you I truly need.
Don’t forget you’re the one who told me my mind plays tricks on me.
You’re the one who told me to go grow on my own.

You said you’d always be there,
and I’m not letting you go,
before I let go.

One day we’ll shine down with the stars together,
and join the sun feeding all your favorite roses,
but till that day the soils are our home,
no matter where the other goes.

i could be that girl
whose voice is low and melodic
and coats your mouth with
acacia honey
whose eyes are the color
and depth of
midnight
whose presence is thick like
new york summers
rosy like
los angeles in early spring
if i braid flowers into my hair
if i write enough poems
if i learn to show the skin of my essence
but remain an abyss—
i will stop making art
when i become it

i do not speak your name
i cannot even whisper it
instead, i hide it in my dreams
under my sheets
beneath a sky that sees all
but does not burn my skin
do you ever wonder
what the moon is thinking?
does she gaze down solemnly and see
a fading opus
or a symphony simply tightening its strings
for the final act?
do you think it makes her sad
to see the greens replaced
with soot and plaster
the seas rising to meet her
with an apocalyptic kiss?
the falling tide
the slow recession
reminds me that
she keeps our secrets
but i think it breaks her heart