At the edge of the world,
where the sun is falling to
the ground, and the horizon
is only a meeting place for
two hearts at dawn and dusk;
where the tree line trembles
with every brisk kiss before
the rays converge in one last
embrace, soothing the earth
in love and redemption – we
are two hearts of an opposite
nature, grasping at the roots
for any chance with the other,
knowing our love to be true
like a guarantee of the rising
sun, we meet at the horizon.


I can’t count the ways
in which I miss you, past
the sound of my name on
your lips – a light brush of
a kiss with every syllable,
in a gentle serenade of a
dance built on jazz; with
echoes of desire laced in
the curves of each letter,
as the softest graze of my
memory brushes your lips,
trembling my spirits from
hopeful assent to ashes at
dusk, always missing you.

The gamble.

I played my final hand,
knowing the odds against
my favor, as all I needed
was the queen of hearts
nestled deeply behind the
blue print found in your
hand – as I waited patiently
for you to lay your cards on
the table, and yet instead of
taking all that was left of me,
you got up, silently walking
away, taking your cards and
my queen of heart with you.


It all comes down to patience,
a steady quality I do not have –
where time is only considered
a burden, and the silences are
screaming lies and indecisions
as I attempt to cast myself into
dreams of hope, where the only
truths are painted in sought after
realizations too painful to bare
as my heart is still echoing your
name; the constant fear of never
again and lone tales of distance
spreading out like ashes in the
breeze, where your name falls
like ice from my lips as I am
hesitant to break the silence for
the fear of your answers is the
only thing worse than waiting.