I touched my own lips
in an attempt to remember
yours, where once had been
a gentle graze between two
hell bent lovers was a lonely
desperation- the days pass
in a slow haze, filled with a
longing since your absence,
rooted by the chains of half
memories playing on repeat.
I can do nothing but feel the
slow creep of numbness as I
count the tears that are falling,
making a wish with each drop,
for the redemption of our love
neither of us willing to lose. 


When I close my eyes
underneath the light of
the moon, it is you that I
dream of; sunlight kisses
over the mountains, crisp
breezes running fingers
through my hair, and sweet
gentle chatter over coffee
on Pearl Street. My heart
aches for your embrace –
hand in hand strolls beneath
the light of the stars, while
counting wishes of whispers
of hope, longing and love.
With every new moon, I
close my eyes, dreaming
of you and I – together
being home, once again.

August Waters.

It was the back and forth
calling at the docks, with
tides turning into waves,
splashing for attention
but still going unanswered
as you heard the creak of
wood, and still chose to
stand with your back turned,
one eye on the sky – even
the ocean couldn’t bring
you home; it was just our
chatter of promises, left
rummaging in the waters,
pleading with the dock for
an ounce of breath or a
guided light back safely.

Insight Two.

my heart beats
so loudly when
you’re near that
I almost didn’t
hear you say
that for me,
there’ll never
be a second
chance; it was
like trying to
revitalize the
butterflies, only
to let them drown.


I once called her name,
barely breaking a whisper,
trying to prove to myself
that I still could, even
though she had gone astray;
with me still looking for
her in the colors of my
pens, the spaces between my
words, and in the lines of
the journal that she had
insisted matched the
creativity that we were
creating. Together.
She was my second muse
having come and gone,
dried up with the blue ink
stains and coffee grounds
scattered across the page –
I can only hope she’s
traveling as well,
finding whatever it is
that she’s looking for.

The moon and back, remember…

I had never thought,
as a dreamer of morning sun,
that I could miss the moon
hugging me at night so much –
with company in the stars,
shining pathways guided
by hope, glowing laughter
in the silence, warming
edges then my heart.

Every night I glance up,
hoping for the moon to make
an appearance – just one
conversation to kiss the
eyelashes, sparking
sonnets down to me toes.
As I close my eyes and
make a wish, I only sing
for my moon to come home.

Sunday’s are the worst…

I want to be wrapped in your arms,
with your touch promising me words
of always, not your half hushed
whispers of things getting better;
actions become facts, and words
become sharpened knives in
battles of broken hearts my dear,
you taught me that once upon
a time – when all I had were
fairy tales and dreams of love.
when I love you meant everything;
where everything else I could
always look the other way on.
Because I loved like the
horizon to the ocean –
never getting to hold them
but still sparking sunsets
and warmth every time I see them,
doing everything in my power to love
them throughout the days and my best
to let them shine alone in the nights.
It’s no longer the dreams come true,
white picket fences and happily
ever afters – it’s wanting to be wrapped
in each other on a Sunday afternoon
kissing and dozing the time away,
with stories of white knights,
damsels and talking frogs, whose
fantasies will never compete with
our own imaginary reality.


A subtle sprinkling
of kisses to ice,
falling in the streets
outside the bar
where we first met –
laughing and drinking,
meeting the sun
at dawn for rounds
six and eight.
Winter is coming again,
and I haven’t you to dance
the streets with
painting our coats
in snow and sighs.
So, come back my sun,
come back.