I’d write you a poem but my hands are too cold
There’s little light where I am
And my will is growing old

I’d say the last time I saw you, under an electric moon
Was the last time I felt warm
And you took that warmth too soon

Bast and I still speak of you, over fires and amber soaked rocks
That smile that lit a world
My sadness that memory mocks

I have no one to send this to, no one I’d expect cares
Perhaps one day you’ll read this
And see I’m always there

I dug a well and climbed inside, looking to find a place to hide. Not from you, Death, or they, but from the cold callous light of day.

Colors stream down your face
Like raindrops on a window
Washing away one layer of you at a time
Like scenes from a movie
They play out nightly to an audience of one
And though they’re not worth much
To you, or anyone
They’re all I have
Illusions and things left unsaid

My eyes feasted upon you like dogs
Salivating at the thought you
Honey dipped basked in blue fire
Poured out by the moon
My minds hands shake
You’re a poem that can’t be written
Moving like sunlight
Only I couldn’t follow
My moment in your warmth
Fleeting and coveted

She’ll curl up in the arms of the moon and wistfully think of her heart’s desire. Hoping to jumpstart a dream she hopes to one day live.
The smoke swirls about like mixed paint in the crepuscular rays of a new day. Time spins around me like my life is a game of musical chairs. Except I can’t hear the music.
My thoughts claw their way back to you. My whiskey drowned eyes swim in shadows of your face. As you smile that “love in spite of” smile. Letting me know I’d found something unconditional.
Her honeyed tongue runs over my heart and it forgets its own scars. Helpless to her touch my spirit floats off and I forget myself.
Find me in the corner of a memory once cherished before my words lost me. Revisit that place and time with me and hold me tight. I’m in pieces. If you let go.