February 21, 2015

I am here on your darkest days.
I wander the corridors like abandoned dust.
I listen to your quiet sobs of pain,
the notes of sadness you carry into the night.
I remain in the dark folds of these rueful corners,
unflinching, unwavering, untold.
For I am here at the end of all things,
when the sun has burst and the debris descends like mist,
when they have left their decadent palaces for higher ground,
when you have fallen to the earth in bitter defeat,
when there is nothing left to salvage.
Here I remain in my infinite patience.
I await your arrival in meager anticipation.
My sentiment is old and weary with grief.
My ancient bones grow restless,
for I have reached my final zenith.


February 6, 2015

If I could pluck the fireflies from the mist and toss them into the purple sky, I would.
Who would contest such a poetic notion?
I wander across the bay like a mourning apparition,
the dewey grass succumbing to my bare soles.
I hear voices carried in the wind,
ballads of longing and of loneliness,
swirling overhead before dropping gracefully into my lap.
I mark the end of their winded journey as I pour their souls into my painted ewers,
having the final pleasure of hearing such wondrous sounds.
These are the most beautiful of them all, I ponder dreamily.
The last set of voices tend to be the loveliest,
for they have been relinquished from prying hands,
and become free of their heartbroken conscience.
Such is the purpose I fulfill in this strange place,
releasing these crestfallen spirits into the sky as they join the fireflies.


January 16, 2015

The important is the simple,
the whispering wind at the close of twilight,
the smell of fresh coffee brewing,
the open book in my lap,
your warmth beside me, within arm’s reach,
I see your lips in slow motion when you sing,
their laughter, their presence,
our conversation over buttermilk pancakes this afternoon,
I’m looking at our skyline in the distance,
this coast, my coast, our home,
the package on my desk, wrapped so perfectly,
the kisses I received this morning,
these little pleasures fill my days,
the important is the simple.


January 9, 2015

Why don’t you tell me something I don’t already know, a revelation that shifts my sunken world, a thing that turns my beliefs inwards, that infinite void of encapsulation without pretense or supposition, you ostentatious fuck, tell me something new, avoid presenting oneself in a light you can’t ever emanate, it’s the kind of shade we walk in, the one you can’t borrow, the kind we’re made of the moment we’re born, it can’t be recreated or mimicked, it’s innate, it’s either there or it’s not, we walk in our tribe of selective disentanglement, that’s where I stand, it’s who I am. Who are you?


January 7, 2015

Been a while, all in good purpose. Life has rolled by like the poetry of a wintery morning, filled with emotion and aroma and confusion. A table decorated with pretty eats as bodies gather around it, we say our thanks and continue the occasion. You come halfway across the world to roam streets I know like the back of my hand and I insist on a few things because it’s in my nature to insist despite trying not to. So you indulge and I bring you into my nights and you see where I come from. You see all the significant faces of my days. I see the way you look at them before you look at me, thoughts swirling in your gray eyes as you tell me nothing of what’s in your head. I come to where you are, to that gloomy and lovely place you reside in. You look at me the same way, on this side of the world where no one’s looking. Except everyone’s looking and it’s you and me. You smile as if you have nothing to feel but your eyes betray you every time I look your way. As the night wears on you get more comfortable, your curtains draw back and you’re free again. You tell me things you’ve buried a layer down and as your lips move I see who you are. I’m so pleased you’re indulging even if you’re still guarded. A little goes a long way. I willingly meet you further than the halfway point as it’s how I love, in wholes and not halves. But you’re still wounded and won’t completely lend over. I want to bottle up this love and send it out to sea. Who knows where we are tomorrow. Time is fleeting, my days are precious. I’m gone tomorrow, back to my coast, a world away from you. Your eyes look at me like I’m wild and captivating. I haven’t been looked at that way before. Come with me, I beckon silently.


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