Two sets of lips
parted by the tips of tongues
Two sets of lungs with rapid breathes
Two hearts
Seething in fine lines
Two hands
relating beats

                                                               ­                                                                 ­                        Two hands
                                                           ­                                                                 ­     Around two separate necks
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                       Confining life-
                                                           ­                                                                 ­   Mixing pleasure with distaste
                                                                ­                                                                 ­    Streams of constellations-
                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                  Moments, words
                                                           ­                                                                 ­               Past tense conclusions
                                                     ­                                                    Jaundiced minds led us to gypsy stairwells  
                                                    ­                                                                 ­            From everything to nothing

(C) Tiffanie Doro

when the first flake of snow falls onto the ground,
it melts into the earth and waits
for the others to pile upon it.

only then, with thousands of others blanketing
and falling and dancing across the sky
will that one snowflake be defined as snow.

thoughts react similarly.

one thought can too easily melt into the earth.
but with the addition of many
there is a revolution, a war, a definition
with the power to create more definitions.

a movement depends on the voice of one
but the idea expands to plant seeds
so flowers grow even when there is no soil.

we are the flakes that give meaning to snow.
do something about it.

Two years ago I met a boy that knew how to finish crossword puzzles
without picking up a pencil.
I didn't know how he kept track of the letters
but he said that you don't need to write them down to remember.

Two years ago the boy and I became friends.
We wrote stories together,
roamed the streets carrying flowers from the meadow,
and arose from the friendship a cliche couple
comprised of poetry made with teenage wonder.

This is not a sappy love story,
nor is it a depressive tale of separation.

Sometimes you meet a person that has the ability to crawl into your skin
and make whole the most vacant parts of you.
They grip onto your cells
and preform symbiosis with your mind
but that doesn't guarantee an infinite presence.

Stories have the power to outlive their creator,
but sometimes the story gets crushed underneath those who made it.
Crossword puzzles can be easy to complete
but sometimes the letters don't even need to be written down.

The relationship you have with someone will always be everlasting
no matter when the story ends or how the puzzle is understood.

Two years ago I met a boy that knew how to finish crossword puzzles
without picking up a pencil.
I didn't know how he kept track of the letters
but he said that you don't need to write them down to remember.

I remember every month you would get a haircut
because you couldn't stand the strands touching your face.
You blew it out of your eyes
and folded it back from your forehead
but you weren't at peace until it was gone.

When you left,
it wasn't entirely your fault.
I liked tomato soup while you liked chicken noodle;
you watched television in the mornings while I flipped through the channels at night;
I couldn't blame you
we just didn't work out.

Yet in this moment I am biking past your house,
it is late and I can see the television flashing through in the window shades.
It is when the house is out of sight when I start thinking of you;
the yellow dotted street line is your spine and I am tracing the curves with my wheels,
the leaves strewn across the road are your freckles and I am so lost
in a sea of your anatomy that I do not even notice the headlights.

They say before you die your life flashes before your eyes,
but all I see is the television through the window,
strands of me draped across your face,
and how at peace you must be now that I'm finally gone.

The air-con overhead
drowns out, not enough,
the couple on a date
next to me. His jeans have gathered fluff,
dried in a dryer, crinkled and in-a-rush.
Her shoes are clean though under the table
he doesn’t, and will not, notice,
the closest he’ll come to seeing them is
maybe on a bedroom floor in a month
or maybe two, maybe more if this coffee
date goes askew,
but for time being they gaze, stare
at one another whilst talking:
his plan is to set up an online outreach program,
take the money and run,
hers, to stay in education, an MA
in Creation Research, read and wait,
sit for Judgement Day.