Later that day, I sat with an empty notebook in my lap to write down thoughts: as a child, the routine was to repeat alphabets until I had them straight but I always started to lose my breath by the time I reached L. That day was no different.

A- your arms wrap around me under the moonlight;
B- the only sound I can hear is the rise and fall of your heart beat;
C- you light candles with the same lighter you burn your cigarettes with;
D- and shut the door behind me.
E- I have always loved how your eyes look into mine and so I do, today-
F- as your fingers move through my messy hair-
G- and I give in as prey.
H- Your hands feel cold on my skin;
I- your legs intertwine with mine under the ***** sheets we’re lying in-
J- and your jaded voice calls my name.
K-we kiss;
L- and I hear you stutter when you say that you love me.

i
eat
sleep
breathe
feel
and
see.          
                      but,
                      i
                      find
                      it
                      hard
                                        to
                                        be
                                                             me.

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

I think I loved you most the winter your heating was broken
And we’d stay inside all morning
Pretending to complain that we couldn’t get out of bed
Our clothes becoming little islands on the floor,
Ones that we could not quite find the courage to visit

Your hand stayed glued to my hip,
Your breath warming my shoulder
Like a long drag of whiskey
That kind that had a home so far away,
In a glass bottle on top of your refrigerator.
The one that would not be opened
Until that fateful day in February,
When everything went wrong

And on that unbearable night
When you joked that you’d freeze to death if I left you
There was a long silence
Like it might be true.

Now it’s warm enough
That I show too much skin when sitting in bars
And you avoid me like the plague,
Whispering in any girl’s ear that’s near to you
Every time you see me watching out of the corner of your eye

We should have stayed inside when the ice began to melt
Because I think
When those doors opened and we finally ventured outside
The world had changed,
And so had you and I.

I'll sing of all the ways I miss you
and how this sorrow came to be
the verses, lies I should have whispered
the chorus, truths in harmony.

The melody will break the silence
and call your broken heart to me
to be repaired by love unyielding
to broken hymns in minor key.

Nice,
Slick,
Steady,
Unbuttoning...

She makes
Naughty
Things
So
Forgivable.*

© 2014 J.S.P.