Writing
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When wewalked overboard, were wefalling through?Heart within heart?Against the silver of malleable eyes,were we ever able, ever stablethrough the rapids of rivers,seeing us on reflections? No longer kiss,no further walkon the boardwalk carved outof drying mud. We have screameduntil false voices are filteringour bent forms,with no submission.Among all the puddles of raindropswe let loose from…
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Why have you? Walking inpuddles, creating circles with yourfeet in the halo of retreat.Wading in a heart. Talking incircles that seal the lines, the openwounds, the scars.Sealing the center, the spotwhere we both never mattered – in the moment of believingour eyes were seeing the same. In the moment of findingfog for dreams,there is the…
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A hand uponall I can count on,this heart that keepsitself beating.I no longer smile,while the moon has becomethe color of her lips.I no longer crywhen autumn decays around me,for me. Still, this handremains upon this chest,with a heart buried in sand,a treasure of more depththan the ocean it crossed. While I breathe,continue, as I implore…
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Even while piling higher,faces come around, drown aroundthe last breath at the dawnof a morning that never surfaced.All there is, the mourningwaking potential smiles to recedewith the farewells, to welcometears at the earliest arrivalof unwelcomed sunlight. They bellowat the reprimand of aplight of sorrow.Ingrown in the diseaseof grief, full in the sickness,while their eyes turn…
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We were stolen tothe spotlight. The grand placewhere we made our mark,where we carved our heartinto oaken frames,a canvas of burning birch. It was that place of heat,that pallid gesture ofsomething cleanin smoke, in debrisof what our kisses turned,under the blue sheen. Made wiltingin the light of attention,though our lips never mentionedthe dirt road would…
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Blown free from armsof a tree, leaving dust in a fall,settling in the handsof winter to its call.Am I here, given a blanket of cold?Offered a quilt of somethingnot for me to scold – in truest gratitude,that the faces of emptinesssee more in me than the shadowswhere I lay, underneath. Under where faint droplets of…
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Here’s a stone. There’s a trail.Burning fingers will hurl what it canwhen the past will bandagethe tomorrow. When the past will reminda farewell to the openwindow, or the open fieldof the purpose for day to fade. When morning comes,leave me beneath these sheets. When mourning runs,bring it back, riding the sigh, – the wind, the…
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Something. A thing seemed to quake,no heart was heard to breakwhen a whisper was heard in the veins,when life’s forwarding horseswere held back in their reins. Constriction. A blanketing messagein the room of farewells to all else,upon the screams of afterthoughtthat this love, this river of everythingwould lead to the corners. Can you? Can you…
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Tear you open. With themoon, letting loose lightover your infinity.With the mouthto bleed upon, in eachsymptomatic kiss,you fold in the cup to yourbreast and unguardedthroat. We lose the light,smudging ourselves into dark,far into the frothing heart.A sea. Caught beneath.A velvet room that shuddersin each caress, againstyour shoulders, lost betweenshadows of night. Agleam, far withinyour unmuffled…
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Find your passagebetween delicate verse,to ride your wayto those arms you reach for,as if the bottle of warmth. Blissful. In your approach,all the world crashesinto empty fragments. In your approach.Then, hold foreverwhile the world fails us,raining itself into abandonment. Without reproach.Then, hold forever.Scar yourself upon the weather,the cloud with an inch-long curve.Your nail buried deep.…
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If love was a ceiling,would you lift itto make it the sky above us?There are glowing lights that neverspot us, being distant for us,allowing us the pleasure of shadows,the concealing of formsin a bedroom of madness. If loneliness was a roof,would you collapse itto make it the land beneath us?There is fertility, everywherewith nothing to…
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Bleeding withthe smiles I crack across,during these moments whenI kiss the windwith all there is to cryfor, under the distant sun,the absence in a moonthat curves in the shape,the directiontowards your range. If I loved,then I will killto love, again.I will end the world’s hearts,to beat mine for yours,I will overshadowthose, that count notmatch us,…
Modern Romanticism 