Carried in the breezes past
midnight, is the light giggle
surrounding your smile as
your eyelashes are starting
to flutter in time to the rapid
successions of your heart –
rising like the moon in soft
patterns played out in blues,
with the backdrop of stars
laid out past the heavens,
you still outshine them all;
carrying your laugh into a
dance of tomorrow, built
for us, to last a lifetime.
I spent the evening
counting the pathway
through the stars to get
back into your arms –
veering left at the Leo
as the light blush of
the breeze helps carry
me past long forgotten
constellations and lone
memories, believing in
possibilities reflected
off the gaze of the last
stars, knowing my path
to be long and darkened
by the night sky, I will
still find my way home.
The sun is rising –
a glow of promise
kissing the horizon,
looming over fallen
days of summer as
autumn has already
set in; a change in
direction, setting in
time with the rising
of possibilities and
chances embraced
in the warmth of a
kiss left by the sun,
burning the trees in
wishes and desire,
casting behind only
memories to fall in
time with the leaves,
with the backdrop
of a new sun rising.
with the words that used to flow
so fervently from my feeble mind,
lost in a realm of reason between
my thoughts and a blue inked pen,
are the whispers I couldn’t quite
grasp in order to speak out loud,
as though they were victims unto
themselves or casualties of my
own making, as I tried valiantly to
shake them out and make us both
bleed – twice for honesty, once for
a lie only I was caught believing.
down went the words onto paper
I had dreamt of and then ended
up recanting, as though no word
was good enough to share with
you my secrets and desires, and
so instead I sat staring at a blank
page, forgetting that this too was
part of my truth, I hadn’t yet shared.
I have always fallen for the
evened numbered things in
life – counting stars in pairs
to the heavens and believing
in possibilities set in rhythms
of jazz serenading the moon,
closing my eyes with every
third lightning strike as if I
could avoid the rarity of odd
numbers as though there was
a burden or a curse that comes
in singularity; so perhaps, my
darling, I was meant to love
you, for a second time in life?
Set against the backdrop
of auburn and gold, rising
in the earliest hours of the
day when the world is still
full of promise, and reality
hasn’t yet tampered with
our dreams – where I can
still wake with the desire
of you in my mind, even
if I can’t reach out to you –
where I can still rise with
a smile, cast against the
glow of a sunrise set in
mid October, filled with its
own promise of a change
still desirable, yet to come.
There are words between us
that neither will ever say – deeply
rooted in an honesty that burns,
touched by the stars in wishes
set with memories and distance
in time. We’re dancing between
the silence, swallowing the words
every time they nestle on our lips
as though actions aren’t speaking
loudest, while we can pretend the
words aren’t there, even though we
both know what the other cannot
say; whispering to the moon every
night under the blanket of stars
covered in second chances that
will one day consume us both.
It was the way the ripples in
her eyes, shallow yet focused
made me dream; crossing the
waters and believing in second
chances past the horizon – still
moving forward against the
grains of the current of every
wish laying just outside of her
eyelashes, beating gently with
promises of possibilities and
an ounce of hope in thoughts,
believing in chances and love.
I watched my memories
fall from the trees in colors
of orange and autumn; burned
by the contours of the sun in a
surprise afterglow of summer,
whistling songs past the gentle
grazes of the sun kissing the
clouds goodnight. And with the
light seasoned change, I found
a star to love – patiently waiting
for me to touch with a poets
hand, bending twice with a
devotion in a dance at dusk
with the rise of a new moon.
So much for words when
only actions hold any truth;
resemblances of the ideas
we can’t form into coherent
thoughts past our lips, instead
focusing on silence and the
act of distance to showcase
feelings – providing time to
play the enemy, and for our
memories to fall apart under
pressure, as though actions
aren’t in fact confrontation,
nestled on the lips of a lie.
Storylines in Verse 