breathe moving through the room, as you listen to 3 am darkness.
fingers moving those holy places only two people know so well.
body touching body over the course of a thousand feverish nights.
feet and hands becoming alive as they curl, twirl, and shudder.
beating hearts telling all of those secrets hidden from plain sight.
feeling conflicting emotions as we lay unspoken words to rest.
yet further apart than strangers
sorrow fills the air,
for they have lost so many things
some sit together
some sit apart
some stare into nothing
some sip on bitter words
some cry silent tears
still and sad;
all the lonely people in
so many relationships
a silent glance
a slight smile
a soft red flush
I stir awhile
a sharp longing
In the snow.
The seat is bare, except for you and a few tidy possessions.
You’ve been down this road before; broken and broke.
There’s nothing like poverty to make you feel like you’ve made the wrong choices. Yet, you are liberated now; free on this bench in the snow.
You think, “How beautiful the snow is as it falls. If I was more familiar with words I would articulate this scene with more purpose and beauty, but I cannot convey this. This is a photograph or a painting…”
Still, in the snow, you don’t notice the gun against your head until the jolt ends the falling snow for you.
Your last moments: broke and broken; beautiful and sad; thinking of the falling snow.
What beauty in your death. Death on the bench in the snow full of a fading glow. Until the light turns to darkness. Then you get the chance to do it all differently.
Never one to believe in anything,
you adopt an elitist attitude towards those whose opinions are not your own.
She finds you to be her one and only,
for you and her connected many lives ago.
Now you’re arguing insistently, without
fully appreciating what her lips and mind explain.
She feels a pang of hurt as you tear layers of her arguments away without thinking of the consequences.
Not one to see your own folly, you shovel the dirt from an increasingly large hole.
Seeing her chance, she pounces upon your weak argument like a Lioness from Eden.
Now you can really see her and your elitist bullshit begins to falter.
She catches you with her teeth, you flail about like a rabbit not long from death;
for you both to find deep love in two pairs of eyes.
beauty moves within you,
for you possess a soul different to most.
broken by things once horrible,
you took your experiences and ascended.
boldly moving ahead of your time,
most people don’t get your quartz heart.
brittle feelings once many,
now emotions of all kinds flourish within.
brightly moving along the way,
you deserve more love
for quartz is a beautiful gem
comes in many rare colours.
broken and chipped cups
and sauces sit still in a
crate next to your kitchen
as a true bohemian and
lover of broken things, you
to you, gold and silver joinery,
no matter the cost, is more
beautiful than any
those broken pieces are
your broken pieces, as you
mend the sorrows of your life.
crying over a piece, you forget
yourself and reach for the kettle.
the Wildflower Tea of your
sorrow flows into your cup, yet
the hot water and steam turns
sorrow into sweetness, as you
sip from a cup of sparrows.