I wish for you to love me
against the hollows an the bones
I need for you to love me
so I can be whole once more

sitting awake
I thought of him

of what we were

of what it was

of how it should have been.

but now
I thank god
sitting awake

instead of waking up screaming

do you think
sometimes
that when our parents asked us
to dream so big
they did it
so that
the achievable goals
only a breath away
were no longer conceivable?

there aren’t words
and golf clubs don’t hit hard enough
because at the end of the day
you won’t ever get to hold my Elizabeth or my Theodore
and I still don’t know
If I’m mad at
or simply for you
because you said we’d get to laugh at the way a white dress would twirl round as **** jokes were said and tears were shed
But instead
I just miss you

I want there to be words to encompass the way his kisses across my collar feels like the nordic fires and metal smiths honing a blade with fierce determination.

the ones up my neck like the night the prodigal son came home. the oxygen in my lungs craving to be mixed with yours, to find it’s way home.

the way his lips taste the way liquor feels when a beggar finds refuge after a long day, craving morsels without sense.

the way his eyes furrow underneath mountains of wisdom from years gone by, like one about to decide a war, not the dress of red or black.

I need words to express the touch of him, like the celebration of a war over, when drinks may be had and songs to be sung, heaving great sighs of relief and joy for the future.

I want to whisper nothings to the wind and have it whisper back to me the echoes of his laughter across my navel.

but there are no words for such things. For the depths of passion are merely scratched by the word itself

I have found
that
those we want the most
are not those who we need

I have found
that
the ones we need the most
do not fall into your lap
till you understand
to like is easy
to love is challenging  

I have found
that
what I needed
was better than anything I could have wanted
because I could not
have wanted imperfect perfection
until I saw the way you grinned

I have found.
and I have been found.

When we discuss love
We don’t tend to talk
about the way it creeps up on you.

how it went from trying to remember your brother’s names to “will they be coming too?”

It starts the same, but just a little different. There’s just that little more fun. That smile that creases around your eyes that little bit more.

And while moments are exhilarating and freeing, we still hold back slightly.

Till that moment.

Hit like lightning. Realizing all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you with their knees tucked up gazing at a movie you knew they’d like.

But the way the lightning crackles inside you, reverberating through every cell to let you know the depth of this realization and the fizzle of lichtenberg figures as that love is etched into your skin.

It’s seeing the bits of life that are trivial, but looking forward to every second because it’s with them.

And it’s knowing they could walk away at any second.
But knowing it’ll be okay.
Because you’ll have gotten to experience, that one of a kind struck by lightning moment.
and proudly carry those scars for the rest of your days.

It was the way he smiled

and

i knew.

Amongst the sneezing
the aches
and the hacking “yum”
we cried in laughter
and embraced the glory  
of that ******* sock
and snotty showers
and even as
I sniffled into that dq ice cream
with his nose nuzzled at my knee
I couldn’t help but be content
at your unkempt
unbelievably ****
layered white tee and
frying pan abilities

when his kisses are pleasures
being refined upon my hips
and his hands
caress my shape
like a carpenter varnishing his workpiece

I question how someone could not be entranced

by the paintings scattered across his back
and the husk in his chuckle

I would think
most would give all they have
for one more fix

for his handy tools
and craftsmanship

these so called strings
these chains on me
cannot contain
the person I'd be

the chains he wrought
are not yours to carry
these chains on me

Will have me buried

Something special about the way you meet strangers.

We were never supposed to talk to them, but everyone is a stranger till a word is spoken.

Or does it have to be spoken?
Because
When you
Looked

No,

Stared
At me

You went from stranger to someone I’d met before,

Just in dreams

And memories long forgotten

Something special about the way we speak to strangers.

There are days
Where the stellar sings quieter
Whether muffled by mediocrity or sadness
no one’s sure

but they continue to sing
regardless of the love in apartment 2b
or the abuse in 3c

the stellar doth not discriminate
it’s tune drones on

even when the world seems to go all wrong

so as the day continues
so do they

till the stellar no long sings
and they sky is no longer grey

My dear,
When I tell you love is steadfast.
I mean it is both a roaring river but it’s banks will rise and fall
there will be external forces
And there will be internal ones
That push
On
you
And
them
But in the end
The river always flows

the words being spoken
dancing on your tongue
make me wonder
how many times
they have tangoed
on other lips

and the way you pull out the consonants in my name
force me to pause
and sit back down

I didn't realize your dance card was full

There are moments in life
we all have dreamed about
The cinematic snapshots
magically capturing that feeling
In a way that the world rarely allows

It’s the present moments

and I am oh so lucky to have found one with you

you know it's real
when the songs I used to sing
are sung
with thoughts of dreams
laughs
and dances
with you

On these days
When the absence of you
Tears pockets in the fibres of my being

Time moves slow.

Because while the moments are fun
They could be better
With your laugh
With your touch
With your words

Like every molecule bound to my form craves the covalent bond that is being deprived

So I curl up
As if tightening my form could keep the missing from leaking out

And I envelope myself in the pieces of you
To stifle the leaks until
Your laugh
Your words
And your touch

Are here
With me

And the absence of you tears holes no longer

home
Sprinting of feet
Dances in place
Food placed to meet
The needs of those
Both near and far
home

House
Decorated
Exact
Collected
House

but safe
Safe is home of people
With a hearth
With heart
With laughter
And with love
but safe
is what I love the most

There is something special in the way he holds my hand

There is something special in the way he kisses my forehead

There is something special in the way he rubs my back

There is something special in the way he holds my stare

There is something special- and it’s simply him.

When the sun has yet to rise
And when your eyes remain closed

and

When your breathing softens and your shoulders finally drop every fraction of tension

It is then that the shadows seem to encompass you, giving you an ethereal glow

but you remain effortlessly breathtaking

dropping my thoughts, desires, and love at the nape of your neck

before my eyes close for the night

and I am lost in the comfort of you

In the darkness
I sat
Waiting.

I sat waiting for me
till I stopped waiting
And upon reaching up
Through the cracks in the walls
Heaving
I push through
And In the light
I stood there

Finding
Me
Waiting.

When pillows take up the chasms that held you
My breath rocks
When tshirts take up the mantle of your scent
My fingers cling
When my form aches to curl against you
My bed quivers

When you take up to leave
My heart leaves too

they say the eyes are the windows to the soul
I would argue
that the tables which we sit at
and the way we sit
is a far better indicator
as to how much soul someone has left to care for

because darling,
how you sit across from me
makes me wonder

whether anybody is home

as kingdoms have been erected
and as empires have crumbled
not once
did proposals
such declarations from the heart
become more important
than the quiet pleas
of the soul
cradling itself
within the etches of time and callused palms
waiting permission
asking
if they may give themselves to the other
in the only form it knows

Puddles shall remain one of my favourite things
For the way you knew that they made me smile
And for the way you purposely splashed me to make me beam
Puddles shall remain one of my favourite things
But my favourite thing, my dear, is reserved for you

In these moments
Where I crush against pillows
No longer to muffle sobs
But
To replay his touch
On my back
Where I can feel his arm
Resting underneath my head

I know

I can’t anymore
whether it be time a cross or sea
the fog makes it impossible to know
just where to leave
the words
for you
from me

i don't know when
or why
but it changed

and it was in that heartbeat, in it's echoed refrain
i realized i would never feel like that again
about him.

and that was okay.

because the feel of my jeans grazing across his palms become better with repetition.
because the feel of his smile whisked my favourite lemon loaf into creation, filling itself with peace in this familiarity.
because the feel of his arms were not that of steel, but hearths; warming the depths of my being I did not know had gotten cold.

it would feel better

and that was okay.

in moments like this, i wonder
should i say thank you?
or scowl at my own tongue
because why must you be 'thanked'

for finding the beauty in the way a masterpiece i did not create became encased and enclosed around me? a heartbreaking masterpiece my soul hides behind.

but darling, really.

must i thank you?

dare I thank you for noticing

the way my hips flow like new streams
making their own path to once again embrace. finding themselves through pure instinct.

should i say thank you?

for seeing the same desire in me that Venus possessed in the arms of passion, the same ones lost to history we so seek to be held by?

or may i say thank you.

thank you for guiding me up the stairs that never end, winding along as I am, so that I may be, all that I am. Thank you for blindly reaching into the dark and choosing to love all that you touch...

even Eros would have loved you.

As your willful blindness and seeking touch brought me to the final step, so that I may say

thank you.

As I sit
Stationary
      Crowded
        and Tired
I find myself
Running
      Freely
       and Leaping
After you

I love you, but you could never love me like I loved you.
Because you loved her like that
And her
and especially her
And I will never capture that smile for me
I can never have that piece of you for me
Should I be this sad?
Falling on the floor like Éponine
Reaching for a blind, foolish love
Where the reality of the world comes crashing to the ground when he no longer warms my bed

Or maybe I’m just jealous
Going green trying to envelope myself in her scent and her colours

What must it be like
To know a love where it has not been shared
What must it be like
To know a love without them?

the gods should plead to her
because few things are more majestic
than the way
her back
curves
and her hips paint effortless lines down into her thighs
creating hearts
and the kind of shapes I could get lost in
until the quiet of morning
and the echoes of night

tonight is one of those nights
where the stars would’ve looked perfect waltzing across your back
As candlelight flickered on fingertips where kisses just passed
I want to hear every murmur and sigh
as you flick the strands over my shoulder
I know the whispers won’t stop till starlight tucks itself in
and our giggles and dreams echo till day breaks in

As I wrote symphonies on your lips
And the sunlight played it in stride
time took a breath
and we we’re left to acknowledge
the way my hands felt on your chest
And yours on my back
drawing little nothing, utterly content
to rest in the breath time took
and murmur all the words the greatest lovers never got to whisper
while your green eyes shone
looking at me

to wake up
in agony because i was dreaming of you
and it didn't last longer
to smack into a pole
because their laugh sounded like yours
or on days like today
when pillows
feel like interlopers
where even in the shower
tears won't grace us with their presence
and
I can't even drink my scotch
because it reminds me of you

sometimes we must realize
that there’s a reason
lovers who sit beside each other
last longer
than those who do not
because
how can you hold the rope
together
when your constantly tugging against
the other?

there's something special about a kiss.

the kinda kiss where you need a second.
the kinda kiss that makes you rest in bliss.
not the two seconds of ecstasy
the two lifetimes kinda bliss.

the kind of bliss that starts when you see them smile, and then see them smile for you.

I want that kind of kiss with you.
the kinda want you now kiss
the right on the floor kiss
the kinda I'm tired but I love you kiss.

the kinda kiss that is only for you.
the kinda kiss I wanna give you
and stay
stuck
two lifetimes

or more

with you.

he asked me,

between a half cocked grin, and sip of whiskey —

‘Do you make every man fall in love with you?’

and that negroni —

really never tasted sweeter, against my tongue

Today was a funny day
I couldn’t stop hearing that prime numbers poem in my head
Where 59 loves 60.
And it made me laugh.
Because after the third run through I was curious what you would’ve made of it.
It dulled the ache in my arms and legs as I fluttered around changing my surroundings for the sake of someone’s whim.
The rhythmic sigh of my coworkers as the plastic tore and the heels of tired people grind the ground.

I couldn’t decide whether you were 60 or 59 or maybe even 61.

the letters drop carelessly from her lips

wait
not carelessly

calculated

waiting for prey

like a wolf under sheep skin

Sometimes
I lay
And wonder
If liars
Are the only ones that speak truth

Sometimes
I lay
And wonder
If singers
Are the only ones who are mute

Sometimes I lay
And wonder
If I ever loved you

In the quiet mornings
And the passionate evenings

I love you

In the tear soaked laughter
And the tongue stuck gnerfs

I love you

In the lazy afternoons
And echoing snores

I still love you

Because I am me
And you are you

So I will stay
Waiting for you

a child’s trust

as they trust jump into your arms

could never be sweeter than anything

except maybe how you smiled at me

leaning against the doorframe

like you could see

forever

You make me feel
Like the bottom of a wave
The richest of colours
The deepest of greens

you seek me out with careless abandon
or simply the determination of a knight
Unafraid to back down

from the little woman
Peeking around the willows
Dripping in her lake

You pause with awe and wonder
like you could see every moment that made this second, to get here, worth it


As a little grin traces my face
and I pull you in
and you sink
as I drag you under
blissfully
unaware

I wanted him
like a man drunk wants cake
not at all then suddenly starving

I needed him
against all reason
and every crash of the wave

I loved him
watching as then sun drifted into the horizon
Reaching for the moon

Only to miss it
And hopelessly

We both tried again

Healing is not linear
I like to say as tears fall parallel
Why can’t I let that go
Loosen my grip
On the anger
The injustice
The lies
Why can’t I let that go
For every second that passes
Not the pain you caused
But that I let myself be pained
Over
And over
As the tears fall asymmetrically
Onto a tight fist
And his unopened letters

sometimes my bones forget
that being an artist
being a creator
is not having the ability to create something beautiful
to be marvelled at
it is simply
the cry
the urge
the fire so deeply churning
to produce
to recapture
to create

I would like to sear that memory
Of my shaking legs
and our running noses
into my very being
because the way you laughed
retelling me of my mortifying murmurs  
was the best thing I had ever heard
And the way your shoulders shook
and your head leaned back
as I reeled laughing into your chest
was that kind of moment
as the shower head kept us warm
that feels like ‘it’
where your effortless lean
and grin into the iced tea
was a moment I want forever
so I could laugh with you once more

The painter does not worry
About the sculptor being buried

The painter simply sees
That to carve a throne may be his trade
But The crown is not carved with his name

This throne and it’s duties were simply not yours to carry.

I can paint all the clouds in the sky, and I may be able to hold them too

But atlas is there for a reason

As I am here too.

So as I paint all the starry nights in the sky

And you move mountains

The sculptor must see

The rock cries too.