my hands are pacing,
driven wild by these
of vibrant boulevards
my fingertips could discover
upon crossing the bend
of your collarbone.
|You don't feel me in here, anymore.|
I stayed up all night painting your face so
I could beat the birds to crying your name
and the world would shudder and shake in two syllables
once the first glitters of dawn skittered across the horizon
and skipped across the tips of your blindfold eyelids;
I stayed up all night losing my sanity so
I could on auto-pilot put my body to work
and my hands would find a natural rhythm
in the swoop and crash of heat transfer
bobbing up and down in the waves of your skin;
I stayed up all night dancing so
I could prance through the doors of your dreams
and I would step and spin without your guidance
until your eyelashes fluttered awake with pride singing
and our distance would hum along with the song and close in;
I stayed up all night lighting fireworks so
I could pretend I was a sailor lost at sea
and you would find me shipwrecked at the shore
tame my soul's raging waves before the day could break
and giggle the whole way back to your lighthouse escape;
I stayed up all night writing these verses so
I could capture the firefly words to speak when your lips
first parted with the adieu of a yawn
and my tongue would sprinkle across them all
the te quiero's and ich liebe dich's my heart has been choking on.
Pieces of me are scattered across the city,
sleeping on storm drains, kissing their feet,
but I am unseen.
I giggle, "Hey, look. Those are my initials."
I point and recite, "M. E. S."
and the rise of his brow
whispers that he will never
be able to strip the memory of me
from these streets.
I smile and we take a step
Rain drips down the drain
and washes away my footprints
but my initials remain.
I am gone.
if irony was a color.at first there was a boy who had chocolate eyes hidden behind two rectangular pieces of glass.if irony was a color. by Tornment
and he would lead me through fields covered with snow when i couldn't sleep and hold my icy hands which couldn't warm up.
and then he tells me he loves me and that is okay.
and then i fall in love with him and that is okay.
snows melted and the fireplace went silent.
one evening under the shower of raindrops, he tells me he is leaving.
i lower my eyes and fixate them on a nail i'd broken while trying to wrap a present for him just right.
and that is okay.
if i ask him why, he tells me i'm hurting him.
my mind shouts that it's wrong, but on the outside, that is just okay.
and then there is a boy who wraps his hand around my shoulders and lets me rest my head on his.
he makes my coffee with more cocoa because i don't like coffee but am too tired.
and he knows i love it when he holds my wrists tight until the blood in my hands gets slow.
and he knows i don't love him.
but he says that it's okay.
a humming.i. tuesday grasps at door handles.a humming. by ClioStorm
it was near-enough the morning,
or thereabouts at least, and
the wishes were drifting in
neon scribbles across the sky.
night rippled. a finger pressed
against the memory foam, left
a trace of whisky-breath on the wind.
perhaps you didn't know that
the moon is an alcoholic.
every day she trembles her way to
her AA meetings and reports her failure.
they pat her on the back and tell her
to keep trying; it'll get easier
every time. but when she walks home
the sun is always waiting.
ii. the doctor stumbles in the park.
the grass is yellowing, soaked
in dog piss beneath that one tree
where the owners congregate to discuss
grooming and food. one poodle, dyed
salmon pink, yaps incessantly
until her master hisses at her. he tells
his aged companion it's an ancient language,
a trick he learnt on a trip to the
shenandoah national park. no-one quite
believes him but the dog is still quiet.
a child hides behind the nearby swings,
dreading the canine teeth. his fe