"scrapbooked" poems
Muse For Hire!
Step up, form a line, take my hand
and explain a smile. Kiss my neck as I grasp a pen and scribble a word. Let my eyes open to see a world, where you've existed well before the given chance of becoming an afterthought consumes me enough to hark your dimensions, mark my words.
Cathartic energy is depleted faster than tubes of paint used to create thick brush strokes that compliment thin lines purposefully, yet with enough spontaneity to frame an abstract thought. Your symmetry can be manipulated, but only on paper, that which can be brought to life in sessions. In little moments.
The culmination of those little moments are scrapbooked, each picture slipped into a corner slot, behind paper that reminds me of your scent. A scent that makes me close my eyes. One that I can taste, and feel, and describe with hand gestures.
Embrace me and help me understand the definition of infinite. Watch a candlestick melt with me
as the sun rises.
Let me order you a coffee and say, "I'm not buying you a coffee, but rather your conversation."
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
i used to hate having
my photo taken
to see every flaw and imperfection on display.
i used to hate
the photos taken
the ones you glued into our scrapbook.
but now?
i love the photos given
& what they do to me.
for before
it felt like memories stolen
a painful reminder of
love
lost
today?
it reminds me of memories given
all the love we gave
it's scrapbooked in my memory
and brings a smile to my brain
so thank you for the photos taken
as they no longer bring me any pain.
Jan 19, 2022
Jan 19, 2022 at 4:11 PM UTC