Last night he called me
precious.
He said that I was
precious
just like a
sunset.
But i am sure that
one day
he won't believe that anymore.
One day I will
let go of the storm
right under my tongue
that i have been holding at bay.
One day i will let waterfalls
pour out of my eyes
and drown everything.
One day he will wake up
and open his phone
and look at me,
or perhaps another girl,
but he will realize the same thing:
That i am not what he thought i was.
With my cold hands that match
a cold heart.
With blue eyes that hint at
a brighter soul than there is.
With light skin that hides more
darkness than the alleyways downtown.
With restless muscles that can only mean hidden rage.
And that sunsets are never quite what you see them as.

The sun sinks differently under an undisturbed skyline.

I wonder if it has something to do with my eye-line,
With the way I want things to happen on my time;
The sun should set when I want and rise only when I co-sign.
Here in suburbia time moves slow.

The sun moves at a half-time pace and so do the days.

I wonder if I’m missing out skipping out looking out for what’s racing past.
In New York all time seems to do is pass
But here it moves
Slow.

I wonder if I wonder too much.

No time to wonder or wander in a city too full of too many too much too fast too busy I have to do do do before the day leaves me behind—
Here, I leave the sun behind. Or it leaves me.
Sometimes, time moves so slow I can’t tell if I’m rushing or dragging
But I know that I’m moving and I think that may be enough.

I look up again and the sun has set. Today, it must be enough.

Some people say the sunset is the best view.
But for me, you are the best view!

Out there—lost in a sea of blue.
Somewhere between dusk and dawn waiting for that golden hue.

The sun kissed her and she kissed it back
And I was left blinded by the sunset

the trees were lovely
an ocean blue
like your eyes
when I look at you
the sky was pink
a soft sunset
soft blushes
a flushing palette
your arms were around me
we laid in the grass
your lips on my neck
we let the clouds pass
dandelions
scattering
floating their way
into our dreams

Often I set my eyes distantly
When in evening the sun sinks low
The weight of the day pressing down

Considering whose vengeance is just,
Who in six days made all I see.
What trial awaits if I vex His patience?

If our days are so shortly numbered,
Meet the night with reel and song
For it would bring needless sorrow
To waste even one.