It was the way my breath quickened

And I could hear your grin behind me

It was the way you move

Both with all the energy and sharp movements of someone still understanding their abilities

Or maybe just a kid too excited to inhibit their movements

Likely that one.

It was the quiet whispers and booming voice

Dancing to put Shakira to shame, teaching Turner a thing or two about being her man

Both the gentle touch and strong grasp

It was the way you tilt your head when no words can describe that feeling

Both the subtle changes in excitement when it’s new or something new to me

It’s the way your arms feel safe

Without any hesitancy or retaliation

But then you’ll challenge me, without hesitancy and every intention for answers

And giggles turn to moans and groans turn to chuckles and fire turns to heat and heat turns to comfort

But then a connection point must be seen

Toes are viable solutions

It’s trivia at 1am when my brain sputters but yours is whirling and I can’t help but smile at your excitement to the world and all the people in it

It’s you knowing all seven layers of hell and deciding that that one layer humanity rests its head on is worth it

It’s who you are.  

Both who you are, and the person you strive to be.

I’ve stopped looking at you in wonder
not because you aren’t wondrous
but because I no longer see us as too good to be true
I don’t know when it happened
Or how
But I know while you rest this afternoon with hands on my limbs
I can feel the dust settling on a midsummer dream
and while the dream remains light, wondrous and new
The home I made with you
Was built slowly through slow dances and arguments and patience
Built by long conversations and silent smiles
Home with you
isn’t wondrous, it’s a cup of tea after a long day
Home with you is a choice
and I chose you

dad told me

he’s always gonna run.

before you ran the first time.

then the second.

and finally, the third. when you fed me to the wolves because it was easier than facing them yourself.

and I didn’t have thick enough skin for that

it is in the lull
where the littlest of toes
starts to inch away
as if it will finally meet its partner
that does not reside
on this side of the mattress
or really this mattress itself

for it is the silence that await the musical score
that always starts with how you breathe while slumbering
and the pillows themselves
seem to ache
etched in stone like medusa herself
petrified their forms as if you laid against them
edging her on

maybe it is the silence
that is petrified
you will not return
it simply misses its partnered limbs
and evening symphonies

and just like that
the world clicks sometimes
and the most beautiful humans can transcend to the most horrifying figures
producing nightmares that should not exist
that render the shadows begging for the whispers of flame
but sometimes
out of the shadows
under echoes of hymnals
lays the softest silence
extending refrains
of the purest silk
that even the sirens, they could not replicate

it’s breathtaking
how love changes
growing and morphing and blossoming as we grow and morph ourselves
love goes from mums cooking to dads cocktails to friends hugs to lovers embraces
until it morphs
into 1:48am phone calls about which car soap because he always did it and I couldn’t find it anyway
and you realize soap was what mattered
Love changes
And it’s breathtaking

Some days a little bit of liquor
and a bonfire with heat
makes a night to remember
and really good sleep

Friends after work
Sipping Bellini cocktails
swapping the drinks and tales
Some are better than others
As glasses sit empty

it is in the moments where we want to scream
and yell
and wander the streets like a madwoman
screaming your declarations for the world to know
but instead
we must sit in silence
and stare at the wall
acknowledging paint flecks
like Siken said
laughing till you feel no more

as she held the brush in her hand
at 3am
with nothing but candlelight to illuminate her tears
she found home
in the satisfaction of the strokes of her brush
the ease of the colours
splaying
as she burned alive
at the sight before her

the way he held her
without worry
without concern
made her soul ache

how had his knuckles
fingertips
and calluses

could hold everything that had been breaking
slipping through her grasp

like the shadows could see that his knuckles
were warning enough

where does the weight come from
that lays upon your face?

why does it feel like, Atlas was shrugged away by you?

why does it linger so, even amidst the noise?

when you tell me “I'm fine"
but I can see the void.

when you shrugged Atlas away,
you should have told me… a whisper would've been okay.


maybe I could have held you close
or held your hands away

so I could hold the world on my own.

          but I can’t.

not when I know that this weight is not mine to bear. nor would you let me.

so I watch, as the weight c
                                           r
                                             u
                                          s
                   ­                          h
                                          e
                   ­                          s
you

crushing me.

I might still love you
maybe the thought of me
and you

and the good moments

maybe that’s why it’s so hard

because I haven’t stopped loving all the little moments or the smell of you

i might still love you

cause nothing tastes like that first kiss
and the longer one after that

the trail of clothes, or hat tipped back

maybe, maybe i still do,

but i can’t.

If only the films could capture
the imperfections of love:
like 3am arguments that mean nothing but a need to be heard.
When heads **** and clothes become struggles in the throes of passion.
the imperfections of the way you love yourself, but they love you anyways.
If only they could capture shuffles up stairs between moans and kisses.
and just capture the boundless love when love is imperfect.
If only.

you wanted me to grieve for you
you wanted me to baulk and mewl
you wanted me to scream and pitch a fight
you wanted me to be a scene.
but
I wanted someone who could trust
I wanted someone who could be patient
I wanted someone who had the capacity to be kind
I wanted someone.
so no
I did not scream for you
but I did put away the necklace
I did not cry for you
but I did remove pictures from frames
I did not take your list of a letter
but I did hold my tongue

I screamed in nightmares months after, realizing you wanted not the best for me, but wanted every morsel, scrap, and drop of me.  

I did not do what you wanted.
because I wanted me.

I heard a little goose
in the starry sky
lost on his lonesome
not ashamed to cry.
He made me pause
as I had never heard such loneliness
echoing into the black expanse. his pleas,
I could feel his yearnings
the tickle in his throat
as he screamed to be heard
like that tree who fell.

I heard a little goose.
all by his lonesome
I couldn't help but notice, not a whisper of another
just his wings a flutter,
calling for another.

I heard a little goose,
I hope I am heard too.

A man of many talents
walked through my door
God I hope he walks through once more

Would you have waited for me
As I, you?
Did your ears ***** at the sweet mention of consonants that had kinship with your name
or could you have sat
as moonlight and daylight became distant revelations
becoming heresy that no longer changed how you wrote your name on the small of my back
Did you think
I would forget the smell of bourbon on your lips
chasing away the steel in your tone
No.
You wouldn’t have

why must we chose
to pick up the shield
of weighted fear and cemented caution
caged in what if laced around comfort
or
to wield the open palm
where everything could land
and rest in a cozy embrace
or be brushed away
with nothing but a whisper

Nothing is more frustrating
Than watching the words
Sit
On the edge of your tongue
As you stumble and mutter around them
They scratch their heads at you
and you wonder why the words remain
Stagnant
On the edge of your tongue
Rather than telling
How it actually was

she sways to the beat of the drum
picking up speed
Feeling the spice and the ***

You wake up and realize with ache on your tongue
it was a night to remember
she could’ve been the one

when I was little
when war was fun and fights were competitions
I never thought
about the little girl
stuck
between the lines
or the little youngling
who was neither here nor there
but simply, was
and the world called loser.

It is in these moments
Where I go reaching through the blundering moonlight  
That my soul shatters
Letting my mind rage
As it meets fistfuls of pillows
And shudders of stale air

When I can tell you are not there
And will not be before the sun rises
And my hear beat quiets

So I find fingers
Still reaching through sun drenched daylight

there is something in hozier's voice
that makes me want to scrabble
to crawl
to beg
to etch my elbows with sticks and stones
leaving blood for breadcrumbs
for the scraps of reverb
and echoes of strings

I can no longer
explain
the depths of the pain
within her eyes
the way the ink leeched
From her very being
Into mine

“oh it’s touch and go, you know”

now I understand why I hated tag.

in the pitter patter of the morning
I can hear my happiness
does that make sense?

the harmony starts as I hear it in the echoes of his breath
ostinato, full and lazy like a cresting wave
and in the whispers of the day
I lay awake, hearing the legatos
knowing at some point I must rejoin the world

but for now
I listen
as crescendos of happiness crest over me
and his hands staccato for me
and as his kisses draw to cadence
he whispers 'good morning'
a symphony just for me

Say it to me again
he crooned
as If the soul swallows me whole
and the floor becomes the hearth
to cook the language back to me

as rascal serenades me
of a back to life kinda love
I can't help but giggle

because I know

I only want his hips against my own
with dishcloths in our hands
and sockless feet **** tat tat ing on the floor
with tired eyes and laughter in our throats

because I know

I was lucky enough
to get a glimpse of the kinda love

rascal wanted of life

we lost you
and part of me still doesn’t know that
but when I cried
speaking to him about how nothing will be the same and you’ll never get to hold little laughter and wipe little tears away
clinging to birthdays and little voices
he told me
that my hands
are extensions of you
so you will hold it all
the packages, the smiles, the screams, and the giggles.

and it made me smile—

thinking of the day you get to hold my Theo, with me.

etched across the stratigraphy of grief in those mountains of dread and valleys of sorrow
I waited for you
Building a home by the lakes of regret
Hoping they wouldn’t wash away
What I hoped to build with you

there is something to behold
in women who scream
who feel
who revel
to cry in defiance with them
at the world
at the injustice

there is something to behold,
in women
by women
for women
of women.

he whispered
and it echoed across the hall
down my knees
across the teacups and the bookshelf
it rang along my bones
Beating against my ears

Till it rang empty
against the window panes
As they shuddered
after the close

amongst the leaves
and the whispers across the sea
in the shadows
and trailing through the trees
it was in the moonlight
the shimmer of the dawn

the echoes of your pulse
splattering dirt through the lawn
kettles screaming for release
murmuring kisses into skin

oh darling
let me hold you
forever and a day.

You said it was the moments in between.

But really

It’s the moments frozen in time with you.

It’s the trivial patter of feet.
It’s way you squeezed my left hip just to let me know.
It’s the way you dry your hair and the world disappears.
It’s the way your head fully tilts back to laugh, and your voice drops a register. my breath only registering against your chest.
It’s the way you kiss my neck, breathing me in.  
It’s the way you allow me to know your thoughts, so that I may bottle them away to save them when I need to be enveloped in the ideas of you.
It’s the way you’ll dance with my two left feet, even though you know the way.
It’s the way your hands move when explaining versus describing, and the shifting of your brow.
It’s the way you tell me you love me and the depths hidden within your eyes.

While the moments in between may hold the foundations of your love,

It’s when time stands still

Where you hold me in the sunshine and the starlit sky,

It’s the way you tell me you love me, and I think I know why.

I hate
that you say my name with such careless abandon

just so that my soul would ache

but god I love
the way you touched me

in the dark of night
just to leave me in the morning

when I asked you whether I should go turn out the lights

You said “no. why?”

and for a fraction of a second I could see myself through your eyes

and I never felt the need to ask again

the floorboards creak as I tiptoe around the hallway, thirsty for air.  

and I find a shelf.

not a big one, not intrusive nor flashy. but a shelf nonetheless.

and upon it, sits unique mason jars. staggered and scribbled with dates. all baggaged and packaged and wrapped up, whisked away from the world to sit on this shelf.

as my toes reached higher, my heart sank lower.

some full to the top, ready to burst. other nothing but drops.

but all dated and all saved.

I rest elbows on said shelf, pondering.

so I hunt.
for something to carry a load so heavy.

when nothing seems to do my hands reach, one at a time, traipsing into the yard with something new.

one by one I lined them together, neat, you know, in a disorganized kind of way.  

my nose crinkled and the thoughts whirled.

til my hands
reached
for the sleeves at my elbows.

pushing them higher to the sky I start to dig.
painting lines in the ground, murmuring affectionate coos to the earth that loves all.

my pockets empty of bulbs and seeds.

Hesitantly pouring

each mason watering a flower. each growing a new being into life with purpose and love.

Sitting back triumphantly as the tears forever water a garden till dry

I didn’t expect it that quickly.

I didn’t expect it at all, not really.

That feeling of freedom, of joy, of lust had yet only come from the ocean.

That echoing force of the breaking waves; wind whipping across skin to leave large smiles and even larger gaps in my soul. Paired with the peace of little murmurs from the ocean as it  beacons me forth. Drawing out my 3am yearnings and 4pm sighs.  

Only the ocean could call forth the passions and peace in me like that.

Now you.

You who snickers at 2000 leagues under the sea because nautical distances mean nothing to you.

You who reminds me of the sea in your powerful arms and howling voice. Your eyes matching the ever-changing colours within the ocean, remnants of emeralds and storms. The desires of all sea lovers culminated into your form.

The ocean that is you crashed into me, and I hope to god I am never cast ashore.

‘I run the risk that I could get your perfect wrong’
he crooned with nothing
but the wistfulness
that every creative understands
whether
spending every breath trying to capturing their essence
or
refusing to attempt to capture their perfection because
how could you condense
the way his shoulders shifted
making the waves of his freckles find a new shore
and to think
i could capture the new rain his eyes crinkled with
between every smile
and every laugh.

“Ain’t words that could shoulder so much weight”
he sighs
and as the colours never quite matched his hair in the lakeside sun
i knew
that sometimes
the artist sits
across with their morning tea
with their greatest muse
opting for fingers over brushes
and years over pages

The ease in your morning breaths was everything to me
Because for once
I was no longer focused on the evening schedule or the afternoon chores
I was focused on the sounds
I was focused on my cold toes anchored against your calf
I was focused on the taste of last night lingering in the air

The ease in your arms was everything to me
Because for once
I was no longer focused on anything but now

I respected him for his ‘hmm’
Over and over
No utterance whispered
Or even shouted
Simply ‘hmm’
like the glass shattering
was of no consequence to him
just a ‘hmm’ would suffice
as the door quietly clicked shut

I want to watch you love
not me
I want to see the day where you take out the trash  
the day where you start humming again
I want to see the day again where you tell them 'no'
and you sit in with something cold
my darling
I want to see the day where you are soaked in sweat, but grinning ear to ear
the day where you stay out till midnight, but come home happy knowing the steps to get there
my dear
I yearn for the day when you grasp that rusty watering can
and fill it up
eagerly awaiting the skips and jumps left
for the seeds to be watered
and for you to flower

Sometimes
I forget the way your hip fits
and other times
I forget you like the heat
But never
do I forget the way you love me
in the daylight and in the sheets

the rustle in the sheets
as you start to wind down
may be my favourite sound
as your head
sinks on the pillow
and I can tell
you’ve found a home

days used to fly by
and maybe it terrified me
maybe because he terrified me
so it was better to look for the next thing.
but
days now crawl slowly
and it makes me groan
maybe because the next thing wasn’t there
and I was left to wonder why.

The lights that flicker in the window
across the foggy sea
seem to whisper of the lives
That were always meant to be
The whispering of a lovers flame
The embers running slow
The fog of grief that seems to linger
Bringing in the cold
I once knew the woman
Who stoked a fire so bold  
But the home remains cold & empty
No jolly sailor bold
but light still flicker
Across the foggy sea
a little mantle to others
those who were never meant to be

Dear lover, such is my random wonderings:

the touch of the wind across my neck
and how it made me think of that night with nothing but some musty sheets and moonlight

I wish I could tell you
my dear
of how love should feel
across the pit of your stomach and the heel of your soul

my love
I wish I could grant you
his love to you
so you may know that love should not hurt
but it should scream and rage
as relentless as the sea
it should make you bellow and moan
like the greats across the chests of those gone

it should make you wild
wanting wind between your legs and sun angled on your back
no longer simply wanting
but craving mud between your toes

it should make you cackle
in the face of sorrow
because you would rather go mad than face a day without them

and some days
it should make you rest
between their arms smelling of a hearth and bourbon

it should swallow you whole
in comfort and meditative waves
bringing you peace that seems to only rest
in sunlight across beaches
where no one goes

please, once more:

how do you explain
the way the trembles in their voices
created tremors across your skin
the same way his laughter could vibrate along your skin

how do I explain the way I can feel the resounding crack without seeing or hearing it
the echoes of pressure
the webbing pain exploding outwards

to explain the way the whisps of echoed fingertips cause the little death across my skin
rumbling like the quakes
between my bones
where the music resides

below the sorrow carved into the words
and freedom vibrating across the stone of terror
against the limestone of cruelty
and the sandstone of humour

rests the quartz of desire
obsidian of regret
and

she put the pen down and walked away