#firstword
*Why did she have to mend herself,
And pretend like everything was fine.
When no day passed without a sob,
As she lay drunk with wine.
She held the bottle to her lips,
And with every single sip,
It was as if she drowned again,
It was as if she waned away.
The memories blurred as the days passed on ,
As she looked for something to hold on.
But honey, you see, the days are gone,
When you could expect a shoulder to cry on.*
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
mama carries me to the porch
tender, still with the glowing dampness
of aged rain. orange blossoms tinge the air as
my honeyhead savors warm scents
of marmalade nectar.
mama leans us against wood railings
watching the breeze hopscotch ‘round the trees
in an indigo playground. my arms outstretch,
trying to grasp the thick air
as her heart close to mine beats a nocturne tune.
mama hums love supreme, each note
a thread, that stitches eloquent webs
of gossamer galaxies in my mind.
hanging pines prickle my delicate skin and
through midnight’s wispy clouds
i see Her,
Her Majesty
dressed in white. she bleeds bright,
covering me in a veil of luminous beams.
there, i speak for the first time
moon.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC