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

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 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

It was the way he smiled

and

i knew.

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.

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 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?

Sunlight trickles through the blinds
And I am enveloped
In his scent
In his touch
In his sound
And I am content
To lay here
For the rest of my life
With sunlight
Trickling into the darkness
And his hand
holding mine

Two coffees.

One heart.

Two grins.

One whisper.

Two moans.

One sob.

Two rings.

One bottle of scotch.

Two coffees.

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.

The fan whirls while the room rests in silence
That sound used to bug me.
The silence

It felt deafening
Too overwhelming and uncontrollable to be enjoyed
It was relentless
And I hated it

I think
Because it scared me
Because silence is lonely

To be alone is one thing
There can be noise all around you
But to be lonely is another

But
Today I sat in the silence while my fan whirled around the room
And as I watched you slumber

I enjoyed the silence
It was the ambiance to the sunlight kissing your cheek
The silence will always be uncontrollable, relentless, and overwhelming.
But, those are the things I love about you too.

So I sat
As the fan whirled while the rest of the room sits in silence
And the sound bugs me no longer.

And in the early morning
I lie awake
Watching
As the sunlight dances across his back and his breath becomes the undertones to my heartbeat.

It is then
In this early morning
Where the world has paused, still in frozen slumber
That I know

I love him.

You caught me smiling and you thought it was for the world around us
in that moment,
I failed to tell you, that I was smiling for you.
Because of all the world in this earth, you are the world to me.

You asked me what made me happy
And I couldn’t sum up the words in that moment
To tell you it was how the red sun flashed across your eyes, lighting up your skin, setting your face aflame in golden light.
I couldn’t give you the colours or words
In how I loved the way the sun perfectly shaped to your face
Your nose
And your eyes

No language, no movement, no colour will ever be able to express the beauty you posses  

As You caught me smiling for you.

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

The wolf sits in the corner
Waiting
As
Crumbs
Drop to ensue his survival
Waiting
For the day

The wolf sits in the corner
Waiting
For crumbs that do not fall

The wolf grows larger straying from the corner
The wolf grows smaller hiding in the corner

The wolf waits
To be fed crumbs of jealousy
Or to be starved of peace

The wolf no longer waits

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

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.

Rain patters
It spatters
And sputters

it hits the ground with a welcoming groan

The earth
It parts
And makes a home for the rain

Because for even a moment the long lost lovers embrace before being separated once more

its funny

to break for someone that is not yours
for dreams you did not have before

but i cannot spot picturing

Those little hands
as they stretched out for me

with all the trust in the world

and the way your smile
made me see
as we giggled

how there could be more

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

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

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

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

Oh what a thing
To love and be loved

To cling to a pillow
A curious thing
In love
Anguish
Anger
Or pain
A curious thing
To cling to a pillow

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

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

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

Of all the colours
Between the deep ocean
And vast sky
Your eyes shall remain my favourite pairing

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

as the room is shaking with the sounds of laughter
full of all the people
all the things
all the excitement of new experiences
all I can do is giggle
fully aware that no one knows what each of us actually is doing
as we venture into the world

but we each know
we are not alone

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

when I would dream
of the days to come
I never once pictured myself
really detailed
in the imagery

until now
where the details in the creases on my eyes
are plain to see
from where you kept me smiling
for all to see

why does that half glass of red
taste so much sexier
when cuddled in bed
with a snoring floof
and a fresh set of sheets

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

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

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?

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

Lines
    dropping
from head to toe

you watch

As my fingers
   Trace
from my neck to my left hip

dropping through a valley which releases a moan

Breath
   catching
As you watch
             happily

as i touch your favourite work of art

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

Fetch my love
Please bring it round the bend
Sometimes it gets lost, every now and again
Tell it to me slow
Just this once more
Fetch me my love
Ah,
she shan’t be taken no more

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

‘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

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

I am sick of this
beige
of the way it sits against my chest
so that I cannot feel
too much
or even too little

I would tell time to come here so that I may dine her, in hopes to speed up the process. but she is late for our dinner once more.

And so I sit, holding a beige cup, with a beige sweater, in a beige room. Hoping it’ll ever turn transparent, so I may start again.

I love when I stumble across a
moment
where you know it’s one that will be encased in bubble wrap
Preserved with the jams and jellies
Coveted on the shelf
With all the good little memories I have with you
and the way your eyes crinkle when I laugh that particular way
so I smile
and remind myself to keep extra mason jars and bubble wrap
— just for such occasions

I loved it for the way it was
not for what you wanted it to be

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.