A look of pure
rush and gold,
swirling with
your eyelashes,
creating sparks
of love and
wonder, overcast
in shadows of
absence and
harsh silence.
I am still
crawling, knees
burnt in the
afterglow; just
keep throwing
me your signs
sweet temptress,
I am yours.
The days this summer
are ticking away,
falling frail to new
anniversaries, and
bonfires scattering
about purple and blue
ashes of the past,
tenfold – relying
solely on memories to
carry the weight of what
was once forever,
swept up in embers,
forcibly cast away.
We loved in the way
we thought each other
wanted to be loved –
trying to frame the
torn edges of one
another into moldings
to be put on display.
Only being watched
as we were tumbled,
falling strands away.
I had tried to break the silence –
shattering all mirrors of yesterday,
while singing viciously over the future.
Too lost in stale vodka and sonnets,
that I once sung but now carry her
voice, I presume for you to notice.
I dare say, she sings much grander
than I – but I wonder what she’s saying
in the silence that makes your heart come
alive, like it did with me? Or doesn’t she
tease and evoke; make you quiver in that way?
Only silence, I presume – what a pity.
My apologies are weakness
cascading down like rainfall –
all too familiar and yet still
beautiful in transition.
No two quite falling the same,
but made of the same broken
particles of twice the sincerity
and one mound of pleading
empty words of collapse,
failure, and harboring defeat.
Storylines in Verse 