Lie to me by the moonlight,
lay me covered in the stars
with fragments of the truth
holding me tightly, bound
to the skyline in memories
of constellations, as though
history will repeat itself and
the truth will become good
again – instead of speckles
of rust not gold, tainting a
clear sky; tainting a perfect
memory, with a broken lie.
With a thousand thoughts
of the unknown, blurred in
shades of ash and charcoal,
running in frantic directions
through my head in between
the coldest hours of four and
six, when the sun was only a
promise and the moon was in
a daze of whispers amongst
the stars, I had lost a trace of
hope that only settles inside
your embrace – I was alone
again, saddened in the truth,
expecting nothing to change.
I follow her laughter
like the blossoming of
flowers follow beneath
the steadfast fall of rain –
in sprouts and in sonnets
of the late hours of May,
her laugh is like spring;
with a sweetened aroma
filling the season in the
lightest of droplets falling
against lilacs to the tunes
of love and jazz, where
her smile sets as the sun,
guiding me into dreams.
Where the edges
are burning inward
and the smoke still
rises at dawn, where
the scattered ashes
lay entangled across
memories, left to
desolation in the
wrong – there is a
sadness among the
trails where the
butterflies used to
be, where death has
become the neighbor,
opening doors with
sighs against the
smoke, in order to
finally be free.
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.
In the hours faded from
your touch, the thoughts
creep back in, and I am
left to ignore the marks
of burnt skin from the
touch you once lovingly
gave another, even with
my name set in flames
across your heart; I fear
the reprisal and a replay
once more, where time
does not sing and ashes
are left behind to repair
strained memories, as
though even fear cannot
burn away the imprints
of another and where my
touch cannot replace them.
I carried onto love,
gently balanced on
my sleeve – where
light touches would
tremble with a kiss,
a promise lingered
past a wish of the
heart, and the look
in your eyes as the
moon finally rose
each night, set my
heart ablaze with
the delicacy of the
stars falling from
the sky in wishes,
folded into dreams.
I held onto her laughter
as an echo past her heart,
beating out sonnets to a
fair rhythm of jazz in the
rain – where each giggle,
lightened in a sigh was a
stem of a heartbeat left to
blossom in the reflections
of the rising moon. I held
on tighter to her laughter,
tangled inside my embrace
as newly found promises,
hoping to bottle them up,
and set my dreams on fire,
with the echoed chanting
of a sonnet kissing the rain.
I searched the sky
for stars at half past
the moon, looking to
make a wish; instead
I found them hidden
in her eyes – with two
blinks past butterflies
set as her eyelashes,
she is my own kind
of constellation, and I
am caught in visions
of her dreams, soaring
between Capricorn and
the Leo, following the
stars until love at dawn.
Storylines in Verse 