Softly... softly
The day spills in from my shuttered window
dreary day; how I am always thinking of you
By the first light of morning I pour over my love letters to you
ones never sent
A best friend would never keep such secrets
my heart is still yours, till I can find another who will make me forget
How can I replace you
I have been in love; never as I have loved you
letting go was never the plan; I just never knew how hard I held on
Softly... I am in your arms as I always imagined it to be
how long did it take me; only in sadness and in parting with you so
Tears long delayed... always
I could lock you away in my heart, but it will kill me
it will kill us both
I pretend I call you and read you this poem;
pretend you whisper, as you always did: you are my soul
Softly... I say to you that all is forgiven
and we go on loving each other, as only we can
But I can no longer act out as a child would
I have made you up entirely, and can not recall who you really were
I have been loving a dream
softly; I will release you from my sleeping world
Softly... softly... goodbye
Monday, August 24, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
She
I fold to my own unknowing.
Why the heart chooses,
who; it chooses.
When a look is more penetrating than a needle to my vein.
How clumsy I am made.
Nervously I sit;
try not to look so obvious...
I forget to saver the moment when I am in her arms.
It's only a hug.
She doesn't see me this way...
She doesn't catch fire every time I say something clever.
Her eyes will never trace the flesh of my body with longing.
Yet I covet her to my own detriment.
However the hours, she is present in my mind.
The days that pass between us only strengthens my desire.
The thread of seconds that stitches my heart into knots over why...
How foolish is the human heart;
that it can not tell the difference, and it can not seem to reason....
no matter how many times it breaks.
November 19, 2007
Why the heart chooses,
who; it chooses.
When a look is more penetrating than a needle to my vein.
How clumsy I am made.
Nervously I sit;
try not to look so obvious...
I forget to saver the moment when I am in her arms.
It's only a hug.
She doesn't see me this way...
She doesn't catch fire every time I say something clever.
Her eyes will never trace the flesh of my body with longing.
Yet I covet her to my own detriment.
However the hours, she is present in my mind.
The days that pass between us only strengthens my desire.
The thread of seconds that stitches my heart into knots over why...
How foolish is the human heart;
that it can not tell the difference, and it can not seem to reason....
no matter how many times it breaks.
November 19, 2007
Monday, August 17, 2009
In The Arms of Adoration
It's 5 o'clock in the morning, and his alarm goes off.
I'm already awake.
I already know the routine;
Hit snooze button at least 5 times, wake only half way and pull me close to him, drag naked body out of bed and stand motionless by the window with a vacant expression for 2 minutes...
I listen to the shower run for almost half an hour; sometimes he falls asleep standing up.
He puts his uniform on, leaving it sloppy, but clean.
And then the part of his routine I never understand....
He crawls back into bed with me, not to sleep, but to watch me.
He pulls me to him like he fears he may never see me again and whispers... "I hate leaving you."
In those precious few minutes, I feel as though I'm some kind of one and only...
He really loved me once.
I'd give all my hours, and all my lovers back; to feel again, what those few minutes made me feel with him.
I tell myself to remember that...
and if the time should ever come again that someone adores you as much as he did;
tell him not to go.
March 22, 2007
I'm already awake.
I already know the routine;
Hit snooze button at least 5 times, wake only half way and pull me close to him, drag naked body out of bed and stand motionless by the window with a vacant expression for 2 minutes...
I listen to the shower run for almost half an hour; sometimes he falls asleep standing up.
He puts his uniform on, leaving it sloppy, but clean.
And then the part of his routine I never understand....
He crawls back into bed with me, not to sleep, but to watch me.
He pulls me to him like he fears he may never see me again and whispers... "I hate leaving you."
In those precious few minutes, I feel as though I'm some kind of one and only...
He really loved me once.
I'd give all my hours, and all my lovers back; to feel again, what those few minutes made me feel with him.
I tell myself to remember that...
and if the time should ever come again that someone adores you as much as he did;
tell him not to go.
March 22, 2007
Motherhood
A small joy swells till the ribcadge hurts and tears of anticipation form.
A living thing; blooming inside... and hope grows.
A second heart beat; another soul attached.
The movement of a butterfly becomes the movement of a fish, becomes the movement of baby girl...
How I cherish all the days that go back to that day;
When I was your cocoon.
May 13, 2007
A living thing; blooming inside... and hope grows.
A second heart beat; another soul attached.
The movement of a butterfly becomes the movement of a fish, becomes the movement of baby girl...
How I cherish all the days that go back to that day;
When I was your cocoon.
May 13, 2007
Surface
With all your bones, will you drag your body out of the depths...
your gills close up;
and now you must learn to breathe the air.
Now you know how heavy your body is.
Now you know the sting of the sun on you bare skin.
July 6, 2007
your gills close up;
and now you must learn to breathe the air.
Now you know how heavy your body is.
Now you know the sting of the sun on you bare skin.
July 6, 2007
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Forgiven
My heart quickens
I draw from the air a different kind of happiness
into my eager lungs
The moment passes, tears fall; yet somehow my spirit is lifted
Forgiven
written:July 25, 2006
I draw from the air a different kind of happiness
into my eager lungs
The moment passes, tears fall; yet somehow my spirit is lifted
Forgiven
written:July 25, 2006
First Touch
Like the first taste of wine on my lips;
The sun in my eyes after clouds and rain.
The prick of the needle before it enters a vein;
shocking and pleasing,
sweat beading in circles on feverish skin
Nothing post has it's power, or pervokes more
emotion.
It sizzles, and everything else is bland;
The first and slightest touch from your hand,
You own me
written:September 13, 2006
The sun in my eyes after clouds and rain.
The prick of the needle before it enters a vein;
shocking and pleasing,
sweat beading in circles on feverish skin
Nothing post has it's power, or pervokes more
emotion.
It sizzles, and everything else is bland;
The first and slightest touch from your hand,
You own me
written:September 13, 2006
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