Lavender petals dust the
floor of the shop,
pearls of stems and beads
of thorns stick up from
the carrier bins on display.

Fingertips grace the
blooms of the pink and twilight
nuzzled petals,
so pretty, so fresh,
so ethereal.

A flower shop,
a vortex of learning and beauty,
one for joyous occasions
or forlorn ones, but
for occasions nonetheless.

And my occasion
for such a place with
such ethereal beauty
and flowers with
limbs of outstretched
support and beauty came from
loving and caring for you.

Lately
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Unfamiliar.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.

One bite is all I wanted
The taste, the euphoria
An addict with no composure
I just wanted, and wanted more of ya.
Pleasure is something I lack
But yours is becoming a torture
Hours and days can go by
And I just want you to be closer, and closer.

Nothing can ever take the place
Of reminiscent touch
Your skin on mine
I can never get enough
The jester goes on praising his queen
Not everything’s as it seems
To realize that he is no king
To her he means nothing

Wanting nothing more than her
The moment set to be a curse
The cure for a sickness that’s only made symptoms worse
This wouldn’t have started if you hadn’t kissed me first.

Diamonds in the sand, quickly, I’m sinking
Fools gold across the land
Still treasure is treasure, that’s all that I’m thinking
My demons have played a huge part of this hand
I’ve become a civil monster, straying further from man.
God, look at me, the simple fool. Watch as I play along the Devil’s Tune.
Your lightning in the fray, to the goddess I am simple prey
Sins I would not think twice about if asked again to do
All I want
All I want
Is to be yours, and you feel the same about me, too.

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.