for now I will keep my little papers
because they bring me joy
but one day I'll chop myself up like a piece of clay
grey and soft and firm
to a small blank surface
ready to mold
ready to begin a new road
cross my fingers
not to sicken
cross my heart
not to remorse
mourn my memories that leave me still
but break from this proper cycle
fill my trashcan full of papers
that soon will empty
by then, there will be nothing
I could hope to do
my treasures are fleeting
and I, for once, will be new

The storm howled and growled and demanded to disperse pieces of us across the horizon. It felt like the last breezes from the Garden of Eden.

Suddenly, I was grinded into dust and you were melted into rain.
As I fell, I learned to feel. It felt like a life all at once.

My dust was everywhere and I was the dust.
The storm shoved me in all different directions but I was still whole.

I touched the ground.

I now know the wind as if he were my own lungs.
I know the sun as if she were my hands.
Know the ocean as if it were my own tears
And know your rain as if you were my own soul.

But I still miss you.

Now whenever it rains, I feel it again, the feeling of learning to feel.
I soak you up. I can't tell the difference between you and me.
It's messy and we turn into mud but we bask in it.

Once the sun comes again, I feel you evaporate from me.
I hold onto you until it feels like a drought.
I've always wondered what it feels like for you to rise back up to the clouds.

After a few of your rainy days, I hear the echo of muffled words.
A few more, I feel the bluest of blue poems tearing through me, towards the sun.

Day after day, it blooms and rises closer to the clouds, your home.
And when you fall, I feel the petals open just a bit more.

As the blue sinks its roots into me, I weaken.
You seem to be falling less and less, only dripping to make a sound.

Although we no longer have the words, the words we use are as if they are spoken from the lips of God.

I hear the howling and growling again.

What was I before the storm?

Excitement - attraction, ***, love
Happiness - money, marriage, family
Contentment - bbq's, vacations, friends
Boredom - schedules, chores, commitments
Apathy - distant, separate, divorce
Loneliness - heartbreak, regret, resolve
Renewal - freedom, flexibility, growth
Excitement...

I christened my passenger seat this morning.
I Freed Her of Original Sin, and blessed Her in my own piety;
I scrubbed the boys I loved before from the fibres of the fabric and
I forgave Her. I condoned rebirth.

We celebrate her commitment to True Love, and
we move forward in the light of Helios, and
we honour Her ceremoniously. She is Changed.

She and I run until we run on empty.
She carries Truth in Her cushions,
and Truth grins at me in the May sunlight.

She takes me to the sea and She sets me Free.
She carries me to a waterlogged rebirth and
soaks up every wrong I brought upon Her.
She forgives Me. I am Changed!

It was deep.

Much more than meaningful.



More like a cornerstone romance,

from a library in the cosmos.



Like a deep sea scroll,

One unobtainable,

And nothing about it tameable.



It was like solstice, but not summer,

Like solstice, but not winter.



Like a fifth season,

One of its own,

Flaunting all the colours.



It was something enchanting,

Like snow falling on palm trees.



Something mesmerising,

Magnetic,

Hypnotic,

And blissful.



It was unclaimed,

Unowned,

Like land on Jupiter.



It was shocking,

But not horrible.

More like waves of adrenalin,

The ones that save your life.



But this pearl was less about my life,

And more about my death.



This was less about him

And more about me.



For all the magic I foresaw,

Was the magic that is me.



...............................................................­............................................

​

I am the supernova romance

Etched on an emerald tablet,

Clutched by Aphrodite.



A story you’d find carved in a dream,

Retold upon rising with bewilder and a gleam.



I was the dance to The Drifters,

Upon 11pm sandy shores,



The kiss under the bridge,

In that electric storm,



The naked swim in the caves,

That night the moon turned rose red,



The whisper louder than the roaring crowd,

That made you smile and nod your head.



I'm the twist of violet,

In an orange fuchsia sunset,

A besotted perfume linger,

Once inhaled you can’t forget.



I was the fire in that winter desert,

Where we talked about the truth,



The zest in your drink,

When we sat squished in that tiny booth.



And I was the 20 white candles lit,

In that studio,

On the French blue coast,  



The warm wink in the room when

You stand to give a toast.



Now I’ll be the film you wish you saw on the silver screen,

And the private island you only wish you could have been.



So before I died I was reborn.

From that shell without the veil,

From that pearl without the mourn.



Projection death on a canvas blank.

For the romance I have only myself to thank.

​

BY NICOLE BONOMI