Love Letter #43: Finding You

I happened upon your syllables,
between pages of love poetry,
drew hearts around the letters
of your name, following mine
and filled myself

with a new perspective.

I watched a flirtatious moon
and its surrounding stars
dance a delicate finale,
blue as midnight,

like the dreams formulating
in my head

and as the sun rose,
like a swirling of skirts,
all of the faded wildflowers
I walked past before,
bloomed at my feet,

pink as these blushed cheeks
that rose and fell
for you.



The Sting of August

I wonder

if these are the same stars
you looked into
the night you decided
that this world was just too hard.

I drive past that parking lot
now and then, wondering
if I had passed you that morning,
could I have done something;

said something,

but, we cannot change fate
anymore than I can reach those stars
you are no longer beneath.

I can’t walk alongside the lake anymore
even though the red of Summer has faded
to brown, and, oh,
when I think of your smile.

Death, you have such a sting.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Call 1-800-273-8255
Available 24 hours everyday



Clink, clink on the glass,
reciting poetry to dance in
as church bells chime
and laughter fills air
like yellow-winged Spring.

Cast your dreams into the night
and pull stars from every pocket
like lovers without secrets,
like singers with a million songs-
not one note the same.

Whisper softly
what you said to me,
once more, slowly,
so when the lights go dim,
I will never forget.



The Symmetry of Stars

We come together, like a poem

the cadence of us;
our breaths,
our heartbeats colliding,

silhouettes imitating
the swirl of your brush
tapering rough edges
until only softness remains

as night unfurls
‘round a waning moon.

Oh stars!,
you define him and I;

you feed the famine,
quell the worries
lying somber thoughts

into the slumber
of our lashes.



Monday Mornings

Fondness is a tremble; a quiver of lips
like the shaking of an apple tree,
sweetness raining red upon fragile hearts.

When the door closes in the morning,
his scent still fills your head;
last night’s whispers still lingering
as stars inside the lace of your pillowcase.