I
am
healing
but I don't want you to take off your shoes in my home yet

I
am
healing
but I'm still afraid of your touch

I
am
healing
but while I'm healing, you're burning like a broken electric wire, and while you burn you bloom

so yes, I am healing
slowly
trembling
feeling numb
but healing

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.

it's snowing in april and
the bluejays have abandoned their nest to
welcome the newcoming of spring;
we have no furniture, sweetheart,
but we do have time. last night i
held your cheek in my tiny palm and
asked if you wanted me to rest
in your arms forever -
"of course", you soothed,
and i brewed cherry coffee in the morningtime
to remind myself
that this life is good.
we have no money, sweetheart,
but we do have time. we do have time.

If it all ends in the summertime
I should like to lay under a massive tree.
I will be surrounded by love and music,
And slip away,
My final moments spent in warmth.
My favorite.
If it all ends in the fall
I should like to see Orion one last time.
I will be surrounded by smells and festivity,
And travel through the veil,
My final moments growing shorter,
Like the days.
If it all ends in the winter
I should like the mountains to take me.
I will be surrounded by shadows and myths,
And face the whipping, inevitable cold,
My final moments a reflection on all the springs I saw.
Perfect poetry.
If it all ends in the spring,
I should count myself lucky.
I will be surrounded by flowers and rabbits,
And I will rest easy,
My final moments spent in light,
Remembering. Passing. Cycling.
On to life anew.

the smell before it rains and the taste of that first sip of tea in -20 degrees

the slow untangling of your thoughts with every beat of the drum, the way the wind blows right through you just enough to move you forward and never enough to blow you down

the sound of typing fingers when you know you're onto something good, the feeling of your own, and finally not his, skin

the seasons are changing and baby so are you / six senses are helping you develop into someone new

If I haven't posted in a while don't think of me as gone. I remain here waiting for my inspiration to hit me in the form of a freight train. And if my inspiration never comes; dear Juliet, I still love you.