With every chill, I still reach
out for the warmth only found
in the middle of your embrace;
wrapping myself in memories
of waking with the rising of the
sun and curling up against you,
kissing the back of your neck
in an attempt to hear your light
giggle and sigh, warming my
heart with every sound, and
leaning further into your touch.
With only your old blanket and
my fallen memories, I am still
cold through the nights, in a
search of warming devotion.
It was only the silence
returning, creeping in
through the cracks with
a resilience in latitude
towards the tremors of
heartache and looming
debris; twice crossing
stages of change and
promises subdued with
the helping hands of
another, melting down
with the cries of rain.
I sat two hours in the cold,
gazing at the moon in her
far away beauty; half of her
always hidden away in true
darkness, the parts that only
I knew, with a heavy heart.
Her smile unwavering even
amongst the temptation of
the stars, a curvature in true
form, with my hands reaching
out ready to hold if ever she
should fall, whispering sonnets
and lullabies; only shining the
brightest in my steady arms.
she had become broken
fragments of hope and
insecurities, reflecting off
the glass of whiskey and
rocks – promising herself
she was always the fighter,
staying rooted in her desires,
yet, with every passing sun
she was breaking off more
pieces of logic and reason,
trailing shards of debris and
rubble in her wake, with only
bits of glass left distressed
without a reflection to hold.
With the gentle waves of amber
granulated into the night sky,
binding stars into the darkened
scenes of heaven and fidelity,
there is a moon wrapped in the
embrace of my love, soothing
sonnets twice turned over and
falling with the rhythm of lost
laughter at the touch of hand;
gently and soundly upholding
the northern skyline with twists
of fate and desire, only casting
reflections against their heart
to help guide me back home.
Past the reflections
of the window pane,
billowing slightly in
the soften breezes of
the neighboring trees,
harboring heart aches
in disguises of hope
hardened with truth;
past the melodies of
the wildflowers long
ago blooming on the
horizon, with laughter
circling like butterflies
in early June, there is
a moment trapped in
the smile of a memory,
recaptured with every
look out my window,
to the glory days of
you and I – back when
there was still such a
thing to look back on;
past the reflections of
regrets and what ifs.
At some far off point you began
using my own words of devotion,
my verses of longing and love
against me as your weapon of
choice, twisting the lyrics farther
into my heart, basking in the light
reflections of the blood dripping
down – either this is your choice,
the decision I’ve been waiting so
patiently for, or either you haven’t
the appetite to acknowledge that
you are breaking me, once again.
It’s all happenstance, for I haven’t
any words left to convince you;
you’ve used them all against me.
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.
In every shade of blue,
I see the reflection of the
stars whispering songs
of sonnets against your
eyelashes, in time to the
fallen beats of a trumpet
and her sax, mixing love
with jazz and the sight of
rain in the horizon; with
every variant and in every
direction, I am the brush
swirling together a lifetime
of words and promises,
waiting for you to notice.
Painted against the glass
in concrete memories of blue,
where a laugh and a whisper
could collide in a gentle sigh
drifting deeply into the night
behind the smile in your eyes;
where the traces of the moon
are light brushes of my fingers
against your ever warming skin,
I kissed your lips and whispered
that I still loved you – the first
time in months those words fell
from my lips, but always circling
my heart. With a look back at the
portrait painted in glass, two lovers
hand in hand, leaning into the other’s
sigh, with an escape of the moon,
circling us in love and in blue.
Storylines in Verse 