I was meant to love you

I remember you in the morning,

the way the light hit your eyes,

the way your smile matched mine,

the way your fingers grazed over my peaks and valleys,

the way you wandered over my warm skin, inhaling its intoxicating scent.

And I remember the feeling that it was a perfect dream,

one that we never wanted to end

but it slipped away too soon.

And now every time I start to rise in excitement

I anticipate the impending heartache that follows.

Do I dare to fall, do I dare to rise, do I …

I do, and so we continue, for the rest of our lives.

the other morning

Lying in bed after a night’s sleep, I peek

at the clock to confirm the hour before

the sun comes up. It’s too early to stir

the house awake, too early to reach for the phone,

for those good morning kisses. It’s

the only thing I want to wake up to, seeing you

across from me, telling me you love me.

Forcing myself back to sleep, I float in and out

of a dream, too eager to get too deep.

It’s one of those days, like every other one,

where you are so far away and I need your face

in front of me. I need your kisses all over me.

I need your smile, your body wrapped around me.

Yet, here we are,

with one more night ending,

to one more morning

in another light.

The Secret Garden

bore from the most arduous labor,
its intoxicating fruit,
its sweet blossoming fragrance,
pulls in the strongest of hearts.
as a vine
snakes its way through the depths
of a luscious secret garden,
distinct impressions
produce
the richest aromas.
even to an untrained eye,
the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed.

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed;
even to an untrained eye,
the richest aromas
produce
distinct impressions.
a luscious secret garden
snakes its way through the depths
as a vine
pulls in the strongest of hearts.
its sweet blossoming fragrance,
its intoxicating fruit
bore from the most arduous labor.

The Gentle Birdsong Calling of Spring

it’s right underneath,
brewing under my chest
this quiet whisper circling-
not spiraling downwards as
i often tend to, but in the way a
gentle breeze swirls a handful
of leaves and they flutter away.
there’s an inquisitive nature
to it where there is somehow a
sense of magic at hand, and yet
somehow there must be a reason
to it all. a scientific process that
always begets the same results after
following a specific pattern of events.
the snow will always melt with the touch
of warm air. the birdsong will always
bring a sense of relief for the return of
Spring. and the lovebirds will rejoice
after surviving the long Winter, nuzzling up
to the love that kept them warm.

Home

image credit: https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/pretty-sexy-woman-silk-10931620

is this my home?
spinning ‘round n round
going from high to low
and back ‘round again.

is this that place where a heart feels heard
and shoulders ease?
for far too long the tongue’s been tied
and the shoulders tense

from being left in the dark
because my stories don’t matter.
the voice has been shushed
and pushed into a corner steadily decaying.

do you hear me
as you untie my wrappings?
do you wish to pull out my stories
while uncovering my parts and pieces?

do you turn the lights on
and keep them shining,
to see all of me?
or do you take only what you need?

is this where I belong
or do I hide in the dark
to seek comfort and refuge
from a stranger’s company.

i would tell if you asked.
i would say so if only you took the chance.

The Looking Glass

the looking glass
possesses fragments of a view.
surrounding figures and forms
collapse as our fingertips meet.
yet, steady is the scene
encompassing pieces of you.

limbs undulate tenderly
with the slightest breeze.
wildflowers spread their seeds
dropping impressions
attempting to gain greater visibility.

such bits linger out of view,
boulders that were planted eons before,
torrential rains that flooded these plains
leaving ridges deep and wide.

yet, this singular slice,
the object of my heart’s deep affection,
is purely the only matter
that requires my line of direction.

image source: https://twitter.com/Bettyxx84/status/1348674161623887876?s=20

Cupcake Dreams


moonbeams and cupcake dreams.
sugar highs into the night.
we’re whispering nothings,
how our lives could be.

knowing the truth,
looking into your eyes
you are the moonlight
in my darkest of nights.

so, love, break my heart
into a thousand pieces
because all of my insides
are craving your sweet creamy filling.

This poem can also be found in Coffee Shop Sessions III: In the Arms of Love.