0

Unattainable

Speak her in song
as violins cry softly
uninhibited by note
or measure.

She flies; wings unfurled
without something so trivial
as a name.

She is wind at your neck
that makes you shiver
and you desire to touch her;
keep her like a gem

but she cannot be confined,

so you write her in a poem;
a delicate Sonnet
you can breathe in

like the scent of a book

that you can love
but never own.

Advertisements
0

Love Letter #55: Rebirth

Sunlight filters in through blue.
I attempt to step out of my shell
as a lonely cardinal plays taps on
the window sill seeking solace in
sounds of worship reverberating
through panes; pangs of a broken
heart bring chorus to an already
red mourning. New seeds bloom
into broken soil to make room for
flowers to replace common weeds.

4

On Days Without Adjectives

I pinned my dreams
on an old clothesline
like mismatched socks

waiting for the right mate.

Night after night,
it was lonely, except for stars
leaning in to kiss my face
under a waning twilight
and a side-slung moon.

I stayed until dawn,
just to see blossoms
and speak to birds
about how you never listened
to my words,
because they didn’t rhyme
anymore,

but my lips; my cheeks
are much pinker now
without you.

0

Love Letter #54: The Hem

I want to be in the midst
of your sweet presence,
scent of flowers lending grace
to the darkness;
your light
unmatched by constellations

as the breeze of you passes,
I desire
for just a brush of your hem
upon the readiness of my skin.

~

0

Love Letter 53: Elvis and an Empty Chair

I keep two chairs on the porch
even though the conversation
is one-sided and the coffee

doesn’t quite taste the same.

Some nights, when the stars
are brighter than usual,
I turn Elvis up louder,
and share our song

and sometimes,
I could swear
as those white roses sway
in the evening breeze,

I hear you join me
in the chorus.

0

To the Brim

You tap into a secret place;
your liquid flowing inspiration
through my waking veins

onto a page
of alliterated tongue;
sway of syllables marching
to your quickened beat,

like rows of yellow daffodils
promenading to the sun.

I see you swirl,
coloring my cup
with comfort;
my pen, with new ink

filling me warm, with your muse

like a favorite blanket
in the middle of winter.

0

Out of the Box

There are nights I find myself
standing at that old clothesline;
sleeves waving goodbye to this peace-

this solace that awakening brings,

searching for constellations
that seem to have left me empty
like the words you left
inside the wounds.

Here I am, fingers on the keyboard
feelings in my throat
waiting for the syllables to fall
like fireflies; like whispers

just before my pen hits the floor.

I climbed out of the box long ago
but you stand there, one foot in
one foot out, waiting for an answer;
a simple solution to the dilemma
that looks back at your reality
that cosmetics can’t cover up.