In a rush of swollen blazes,
spewing ashes of autumn and
charcoal, where the half burnt
breezes are being carried out
as though fragments bare no
harm, and memories are only
as good as the dreams in which
they are kept; with the roots of
flames burning blue in the light
of love and smoke hovering past
realms of suffocation, waiting
for life to distinguish the blazes –
as though indecision was just a
game, with all of us left burning.
I wrote down every letter
in curves and slants in a
constant repetition of the
words I longed to say to
you – the characterization
of every verse loaded with
a kiss, a promise, and a
meaning that would only
fall apart with punctuation.
Every letter was bleeding
in blue ink from my mind,
hoping for a chance to be
read by you, to be seen as
though you alone could see
into my heart and realize
what kept it beating – but
words are only words until
put into action, and it was
just one of the many love
letters, I could never send.
I had been dreaming of
softened shades of your
embrace, with the light of
the sun reflecting fluttering
tales of your eyelashes in a
steady count of our hearts;
your warmth encircling my
body as a trusted memory,
with your light sigh against
my ear whispering a song
from our earliest of days,
and I not quite believing
this was no longer home.
It was an ease of transition, past
the yellowed hills of the horizon,
where the truths were scattered
like leaves in fall, briskly strewn
about in patterns undecipherable,
painting the slight variations of
jazz in repetition to the subtle
echo of your laugh at the ease
of love; you are romance at the
height of the moon, longing to
fall like the pending crisp tales
of autumn, changing indecisions
into truths to dance in the fields
with the daisies and champagne.
just take my hand and let us
slow dance in the rain; swirling
between droplets and each other
around one in the morning, when
the night is innocent and quiet,
slowly creeping past insecurities
while warm at the touch of hand.
we’ll dance between the breezes,
making up lyrics as we go to the
tune of taking turns making each
other blush as we twirl and spin,
dipping in time to droplets; just
take my hand and help me fall
in love with the rain once again.
I tried counting memories
at the touch of my fingertips,
two and four, then six – until
I was well past the numerical
representation of loving you,
basking in the gentle light of
the moon that comes with all
memories filled with you and
I; two more, plus four and six,
dancing down the halls of my
place in repetition to echoes
of jazz playing at the steady
rhythm of my heart that only
comes while thinking of us.
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.
I had spent the last few moons
swirling around shades of blue –
reaching out between the stars
and blending the colors into my
favorite memories on repeat.
I was too focused on creating
the perfect shade of you, that
I never saw the splash of gold
and auburn appearing on the
skyline until long past the sun
rising, bleeding together new
colors for me to paint with; a
pleasant surprise after many
a moons cast in loneliness.
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.
Storylines in Verse 