Skies of Winter

The skies of winter
have my name written
in pink and gray muted
hues, as though we had
been close friends once,
bonded together by the
falling snow within small
crevices of concrete and
truths, where the slightest
whistle was calling upon
the winds to join us – the
skies of winter are a lost
friend, long forgotten in
the blinding lights of the
holidays, buried inside a
forthcoming of snow as
though that were all they
had left to share with us.

Whispers

I watched as the flames
burned my impressionable
thoughts and stolen words,
smoldering the remains of
my lasting hope in a dance
of smoke and ash, singing
sighs of cracks and sizzles
while sending sonnets to the
stars, engulfing the night in
flames and memories as the
fire whispers fueled secrets
into our thoughts with the
burn and glow of the night.

Leo

This year for your birthday,
I had wished to grab hold
of the stars, sewing them
together, creating a blanket
to warm you on the coldest
of nights, seeing as you no
longer seek out my embrace,
or climb to the top of the
mountains west past Boulder,
standing on the peak picking
enough of the clouds to make
a pillow for you to fall fast
asleep, seeing as you haven’t
my arms to rock you soundly,
or fill a pool with waters
from Bermuda, so if ever you
are feeling lost, you’ll have
an escape to swim to when you
think you can’t still come to me;
but sadly, I have only my mere
words, and I shall have to
hope it’ll be enough to convey
all the thoughts I haven’t yet
said, past – happy birthday.

Just a suggestion…

Let’s just ride; let us
hop in a car and ride.
Drive west through the
mountains and when we
get to the top shout out
all of our insecurities and
see where they fall, for
nothing can evoke our
fears once we own them.
We can continue driving
until we run out of road,
stopping in the sand and
kicking off our shoes as
we run into the waters,
drowning the words that
we have chosen to keep
silent, and when the moon
has set we’ll start all over
again, heading east past
the plains, or south into
the deserts – wherever
you want my dear, and
that’s the beauty of it all,
let’s just hop in and ride.

Hide and Seek

The arrival of the storm
clouds, harboring darkness
in previous defeat, was my
only inclination that an
enemy of current state,
yet friend from long ago,
was making their way back
into my presence with a
stroke of hand and only
egos and lies following
in their wake – I was so
certain escaping the past
was easy, but only when it
no longer wants to be found.

Tango.

with a push to the winds
you are pushing back,
fighting for the control
I never once let you have;
becoming a master in a
game built for two, being
played by us three, and
I am at a loss as to what
the rules are anymore.
all I am capable of doing
is to keep pushing, hoping
that you’ll continue to push
back, and to fear the day
when you no longer do.

Insight Three.

how will you decipher when
my words have shifted from
you to another? will you notice
when I stop mentioning your
eyelashes and how free they
make your spirit, or the rosy
tint of your cheeks as you
laugh to the heavens while
sipping on Jameson rocks?
I suppose it shouldn’t matter;
if you can continue seeing
yourself in my words, then at
least you still see yourself in
my heart, thinking of us too.

Twenty-Three.

A blue moon is casting
shadows on us tomorrow
night, sweet darling.
I hope that when you
gaze up towards the
sky, you’ll see my
reflection whispering
that it was all for
you on your birthday,
because distance is
the only thing you
asked for this year.

Adsila.

I don’t believe in fate
or chance, and serendipity
was only ever just a girl,
but she came dancing into
my life with colors of blue,
chanting storms of hope
and promise, parading about
with one hand on the horizon,
the other one twirling rain;
she was full of questions
but she was always the only
answer, and perhaps that’s
why I was left in a haze
when she was gone, clearing
away the notions of uprising
in a dance meant for two.

Twenty- Five.

It was the first cool night
this summer, with the wind
whispering to the trees about
ages ago – back when we would
be sitting on the porch trying
to count the promises that we
heard in the echoes alongside
the rose bushes; back when we
were wishing on fireflies for
fire pits, not second chances
or warm rebuttals. Even with
the haze on the horizon and
a promise of stars, it was
making me homesick for fall.