Love
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Still, those blanketsare familiar with those waves,curving at ripples, overgrowingto weighing flesh being caughtto be motionedat a slight breath – one that wantsto be its final. Still, we arehurting to keep growingthese towers towards gleaming skies,lifting all that remains familiar,if we can keep telling lies. Love can be at all those reused signals,ones that resided…
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Were you always awareof what was meant to be evaded?Avoided, like another kisslanding on your vacant arms – while I cannot imagine that youare dearest in your emptiness. Whose puddles can you facewhen either your tears or mineare collected, in circles being traced? Rings of age, under eyesred-rimmed in discolored yearswashing aside all those brittle…
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In even a lesser volume,start fires, send us higher,bending lowin keeping lowall that faithless turmoilwhere we came closeto distance each other,among dark rooms,while we should have beenwatching black candles,our fingers, our figuresburn away into ash. Uncover what we conceal,to never smothersmiles that even if never foreverwill continue to reveal.We lead on growthfor other roses,other spaces…
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Hush our song of grieffor a time, while here we wearall our sicknesses, combined.Our clothes burning at our feet,our faces weeping for change, our armsembracing what’s not healing. However, we’ll rush,however, we’ll touch –using excuses without answering much,leaving our scars open to another morningentering in through a window,along with a bird’s gleam of eyeswatching us…
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Who’s examining you,contemplating all those corners?Each more tragic than the next,each more fitting for what’s leftin your heart of souls –those you’ve siphoned of light,dividing black from white. Those who’ve kissed your hands,laid a teardrop on your palm, are those peoplemere razors for your veins?Are they who remind youof what’s being lost among streams? You’ll…
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“If we can say that love must be deserved, then we ought to also believe that death can be something deserved upon another. Controlling those uncontrollable, inevitable gifts or punishments upon another, for who can believe, with legitimate credibility upon their words, that this gamble of love or death can be ruled as a designated…
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I have explored your fears,tasted tears that have kissed your neck,bruised, at strangulation from time’srepetitious epiphanies. What don’t you know?To be whom, you want to grow?Like a serpent, your coilsare wrapped around your eternallyfading heart, while I resisted letting goof what continued to snow. Keeping danger clear,letting your hopes crossover a rope, though it was…
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I can keep you clear,though you refuse to stand nearwithout showers crashing downsurrounded at these scenes,among a lost, forbidden town. Take me to your grave,let me see your name carvedinto white. Let me see what differsamong snowflakes or thosecollected, brittle ashesthat you became,where you were renamed. I have enoughto keep losing – holding handswith your…
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Regression. Repression,with waters, leaving an ocean uncoveredfrom eyes that left trails,painted blankfrom liquids we drank. Another scene smothered,another face coveredwith dust, for another, remembered. Withdrawn. Redrawnof a portrait captured in mind,a haunting of a similar kind. Another smile, vanishing close,another coffin nailedthrough hands that dropped,in knowing what stopped – another heart, buried in curtains,that soil,…
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Fatal. Under that waterfall,eyes have fallen. Teardrops have keptpressured all that once creptup to knees, to plead, to grievein an act to receiveclosure at gated release. One more word. One wordunspoken, among those countlessthat were heard. Hearing allthat fell from poisoned lips,with all that burned freefrom once-frozen eyes. Chained to daywhere sleep exists outsideof those…
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Name a price. Or reverse this theme,back to belonging inside armsthat have never held more than a glimpse,an image’s fade, an answer’s shade. Nothing comes back, besides those footstepshanging onto vanished tracks. No one hears a voice continuing to callfor those words left unsaid,because a heart had fled into midnightwith its faith too small. Ivory…
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The area aroundto a chosen world, your home,visited on this occasionwhen your veins carry you out,leaving your memoriesburied in bitterness and red.Ever-changingto digress, disassociatedfrom fertile, uprising dread. You poke loose,budding anew, as light has enabled youto look up towards vacant skies. Are you blind to certain planets,those spheres from your yesteryear?A salience conjured out of…
Modern Romanticism 