reflect

Verses in January.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

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.

Resolutions, Past

Posted on by Amber S Morse

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.

Musings (In Fear)

Posted on by Amber S Morse

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.

Reflections in Sound

Posted on by Amber S Morse

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.

LV Letters – Eight

Posted on by Amber S Morse

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.

Footsteps

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I had let the beats of my heart
lead my footsteps back to you,
with echoes of jazz in every
sway and a melody of our song
floating in the trees, lost to the
rapid fire of daydreams – with
hope as my guidance, following
chants of your laughter behind
the softest of smiles left for me.
I had only the memory of your
love as I marched on; following
your footsteps back to the days
when jazz was more than just
love, and you and I were more
than just home – where I could
pull you close, and never let go.

Verses in December.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I crave dreams set in stone,
set to rhythms and poetry –
where blue ink smears and
the image of loving you is
still found on every page;
where futures are blended
with memories, and words
are more than a destruction
of promises. I crave desire
like the paper needs the pen
to bleed – masquerading as
the sonnet struck out in ink,
as I had once loved you in a
dream, and never stopped.

Forty-Six

Posted on by Amber S Morse

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.

Transitions in Silence

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I still feared the silence
like the edge of a knife
constantly pointed at my
back, left to breathe in
the syllables of words
counted as half truths
with only hope past the
horizon, guiding me into
open arms and a dagger;
caught between moving
forward and not looking
back, with only the sharp
pressure against my spine
keeping me standing still.

First Snow

Posted on by Amber S Morse

In the trees, where the light
rustle of the branches against
the falling of ice and then snow
are collecting like sonnets sung
in early December, where the
reflections from the streets are
chanting melodies and memories,
where my love for you came in
like a winter wind’s kiss, leaving
a blush on your cheeks – you are
the innocent beauty that comes
back to me with the falling snow,
decorating my thoughts in desires
of repetitions of the season, lightly
blanketing my heart with whistles
of love, rustling against the trees.