I tried counting memories
at the touch of my fingertips,
two and four, then six – until
I was well past the numerical
representation of loving you,
basking in the gentle light of
the moon that comes with all
memories filled with you and
I; two more, plus four and six,
dancing down the halls of my
place in repetition to echoes
of jazz playing at the steady
rhythm of my heart that only
comes while thinking of us.
Lost in the middle of subdued
cries of a trumpet and her sax
is a call to end the silence; an
upfront plea at the return of a
voice, bringing back sonnets
and songs of memories lasting
long past the falling of the sun.
Scrambled between the beats
of hope and lasting destruction
lays my final attempt at a last
minute redemption to hold you
in my arms for one final dance.
With every chill, I still reach
out for the warmth only found
in the middle of your embrace;
wrapping myself in memories
of waking with the rising of the
sun and curling up against you,
kissing the back of your neck
in an attempt to hear your light
giggle and sigh, warming my
heart with every sound, and
leaning further into your touch.
With only your old blanket and
my fallen memories, I am still
cold through the nights, in a
search of warming devotion.
I had spent the last few moons
swirling around shades of blue –
reaching out between the stars
and blending the colors into my
favorite memories on repeat.
I was too focused on creating
the perfect shade of you, that
I never saw the splash of gold
and auburn appearing on the
skyline until long past the sun
rising, bleeding together new
colors for me to paint with; a
pleasant surprise after many
a moons cast in loneliness.
It was only the silence
returning, creeping in
through the cracks with
a resilience in latitude
towards the tremors of
heartache and looming
debris; twice crossing
stages of change and
promises subdued with
the helping hands of
another, melting down
with the cries of rain.
I sat two hours in the cold,
gazing at the moon in her
far away beauty; half of her
always hidden away in true
darkness, the parts that only
I knew, with a heavy heart.
Her smile unwavering even
amongst the temptation of
the stars, a curvature in true
form, with my hands reaching
out ready to hold if ever she
should fall, whispering sonnets
and lullabies; only shining the
brightest in my steady arms.
she had become broken
fragments of hope and
insecurities, reflecting off
the glass of whiskey and
rocks – promising herself
she was always the fighter,
staying rooted in her desires,
yet, with every passing sun
she was breaking off more
pieces of logic and reason,
trailing shards of debris and
rubble in her wake, with only
bits of glass left distressed
without a reflection to hold.
With the gentle waves of amber
granulated into the night sky,
binding stars into the darkened
scenes of heaven and fidelity,
there is a moon wrapped in the
embrace of my love, soothing
sonnets twice turned over and
falling with the rhythm of lost
laughter at the touch of hand;
gently and soundly upholding
the northern skyline with twists
of fate and desire, only casting
reflections against their heart
to help guide me back home.
Past the reflections
of the window pane,
billowing slightly in
the soften breezes of
the neighboring trees,
harboring heart aches
in disguises of hope
hardened with truth;
past the melodies of
the wildflowers long
ago blooming on the
horizon, with laughter
circling like butterflies
in early June, there is
a moment trapped in
the smile of a memory,
recaptured with every
look out my window,
to the glory days of
you and I – back when
there was still such a
thing to look back on;
past the reflections of
regrets and what ifs.
At some far off point you began
using my own words of devotion,
my verses of longing and love
against me as your weapon of
choice, twisting the lyrics farther
into my heart, basking in the light
reflections of the blood dripping
down – either this is your choice,
the decision I’ve been waiting so
patiently for, or either you haven’t
the appetite to acknowledge that
you are breaking me, once again.
It’s all happenstance, for I haven’t
any words left to convince you;
you’ve used them all against me.
Storylines in Verse 