You are the subtle laughter
that fills a promise with hope;
a voyage amongst the stars in
the darkest hours of the night
with the late whistling tunes
of an autumn evening breeze.
You are the dream and desire,
parading around my thoughts
in metaphors set to sonnets –
half past lasting perfection in
rhythms of blues kissed by
last year’s jazz. You are my
love, as pure as the falling of
the first snow, coming home.
I craved the innocence
of a dream set to poetry,
where the blue ink swirls
masqueraded as sonnets
set in a tune of the trees,
billowing past lone breezes
that seemed to only cry in
the hours of free verse and
rhyme; where the rustle of
the autumn days, left me
craving the purity of past
wishes carved in the stars,
where reality had left, and
all I had were my dreams
whispering onto the page.
Pull me tighter into your embrace –
I feel the warmth of your arms slowly
receding like the waves who gently
kiss the beach goodnight. I crave the
light brush of your fingertips burning
future memories into my chilled skin.
Wrap me inside your words echoing
off your steady heartbeat of promises,
dreams, and everything in-between.
Allow me to nestle my head in the
curve of your neck, knowing your
scent to be of home, where my light
breaths tickle and you lovingly sigh.
Pull me tighter, and never let me go.
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.
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.
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 crave a few grains of poetry,
blessed from the stars in light
of the moon, swirling between
thoughts cast in the minds of a
hopeless romantic and a realist;
bouncing off the reflections of
the stars as they parade on the
horizon, mapping out the colors
of where the sun will rise and
counting down visions from the
heavens, whispering promises
to the moon in a repetition of
clues and colors, masquerading
as the onset of a lover found.
as I sit in anticipation, gazing
out the window of the backseat,
going seventy five without a radio
down the grains of the highway,
watching the amber waves sway
past, I am aware that with every
passing grain, every passing day
there is another memory that we
will never have, another day lost
to indecision and circumstance;
I watch the waves carry me into
hope swaying against reality, and
I am lost in a sea of grains, buying
the outcome of dreams not quite
attainable without a new horizon.
Storylines in Verse 