I was caught between
daydreams and sonnets,
in the loose reflections
off the western skyline,
watching the mountains
soothe me into a lullaby
I’ve heard twice before –
when nights were always
cooler without the glow
from the moon caressing
the mountain side, and
days were lined like the
inside of stars, caught
between the horizons
searching for home.
At the peak of the hours
when the sun is refusing
to rise, and the clouds are
falling like ash and debris,
when I am hovering along
the outskirts of loneliness
on the edge of denial and
fear, I hear only a whisper
from you gently soothing
my own voice against the
rapid beating of my heart,
bringing me back into your
arms, where I can think in
fear, knowing I won’t fall.,
We’re trapped in coal
in a dance among flames,
caught in the embers of
a blue and golden haze,
fighting to reach the stars
in a breath of air and sky,
waiting for the moment
to whisper our goodbyes;
dancing long past night
into dust and fallen ash
leaving behind memories
of a firelight sorted past.
I once danced
with the moon,
a tango at dusk,
with whiskey on
the horizon and
jazz on repeat –
the stars in awe,
with our hearts
gliding in time
to rhythms past
twilight, waiting
until the sun rises
to finally catch a
breath with the
morning breeze.
Let the summer burn,
engulfed in the heated
days of second chance
and recovery; leave the
fallen ashes at my feet,
where I can stomp them
from memory into the
shaken ground and bury
them beneath my heart,
allow me to look in your
eyes, gently mapping out
the future as though there
were still constellations
left to name, and let the
smoke that still rises from
our fallen past, part with
the turning tides of the
wind, whispering leftover
promises with every flick
of the flame – still burning.
I love her like the stars
search for the moon each
night, lighting the sky in
hope of a kiss goodnight,
with just a glimmer and a
chance to see them in the
light; where beauty shines
best behind her eyelashes,
fluttering about sonnets in
rhythms of blues, and I can
count the gleam in her eyes
twice as the stars, against a
backdrop of midnight hues.
I crave the gentle caress
of poetry falling in motion;
the pitter patter of words in
verse, light at the touch of
hand and gracefully let go –
where the rhythm of jazz
and sonnets are falling in
love in lines on parchment,
with ripples crossed out at
the edges, of words lost and
forgotten, and promises are
fading at the creases, with
only blue ink stains as their
witness, lightly caressed in
a repetition of folded paper
and notes of longing in love.
With the days shifting
into a new year, and the
hours blending laughter
with the light sketches
of a smile set beneath
the glow of the moon,
she is my greatest fear
and wildest of dreams;
where her touch ignites
flames set between the
stars and in the valleys
left of my heart, she is
bordering on madness
built on my desire and
rooted deep in ashes of
the previous year, set to
sprout again, prime and
new, in a year lost to love.
I crave the sight of my words
falling from your lips in poetic
verse and rhyme; with my love
sprouting in whispers and slight
hesitations as you take in every
line, letting my words sink deep
into your skin, allowing me to
touch you beyond a lone promise,
beyond empty words, but instead
through the gentle serenades of
my heart and in light of the moon.
I crave the slightest hesitation of
your voice carrying my words, as
you cradle them close, holding an
ounce of love on your lips as you
let the verses sink into our lives.
She lives on the outskirts
of dreams, where hope goes
to grow past the daisies and
champagne, where the bitter
trenches of a rainstorm half
past the season barrel in like
a stampede. She loves and lies
half past the imaginary set to
imagery, of dreams she once
grew from the roots of ashes to
set her free; running wild past
the outskirts of resolutions, past
daisy chains and restless nights,
where hope no longer grows like
the Gatsby champagne flows.
Storylines in Verse 