lovers

Let the Music Play

we were an unsinkable ship,
built to sustain any injury
thrown our way, or so we said.

cast into the dark,
yet illuminated with infinite possibilities.

suddenly slipping through our fingers
the bitter cold quickly rushed in,
and the music played on.

while the chaos surrounded us
and the children were tucked safely in their bed,
the music played on.

while prayers were whispered,
and crowds huddled around,
the music played on.

while the water was rising,
we clasped our hands together for the last time,
and the music played on.

while last kisses were shared
and arms embraced wiping away tears,
the music played on.

while eyes sought the humanity
and love within each other’s eyes,
the music played on.

while indecisions and indifference captured us to a halt,
the music played on.

it was the only thing that could caress us
as we fell further into the deep, dark cold waters.

and the music played on
for each and every one of them

until they could hear it no more.

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.

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.

nous avons tout le temps

This poem has been revisited often in the past few months. The original poem can be found here: Nous Avons Tout Le Temps Pour Nous. This final version below can also be found in Coffee Shop Sessions III: In the Arms of Love.


in the crowded city streets
sinking further on a midsummer’s night,
flooding puddles inch higher
as tiny tragedies.

can i make it there in one piece
or will he see the disaster that is me?

reaching for the door,
i let out a ‘just breathe’
then gingerly step into the world
where we’ve arranged to meet.

will this turn out exactly how it should have been?
i still believe that timing is everything.

standing to greet me,
his butterflies swarm from first sight.
yet my nerves have rattled for hours
ever since i stepped onto the international flight.

our smiles start to ease
as we embrace the shared space.
so many questions begging for relief
but we’d rather sit and stare into each other’s face.

soaking up this anticipated moment,
we catch eyes between sips of our coffee & tea.
although he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny,
i know this was all meant to be.

i let him take his time,
process all the angles of view,
tell him we’ll start with all the things
we had planned to do.

and we will.
we have the time.
we have all the time.
we have all the time for us.

You’re So Sentimental

*spoken word*

he says as it relates
to a date
of another first
we’ve had.

It reminds me of things
I shouldn’t hold onto.

It shouldn’t matter
when I first noticed
the way light hits his beard,
or how his colors blend
as in a Monet,
only that I see them.

It shouldn’t matter
when those butterflies first flew
from our insides;
only that they fly every time.

It shouldn’t matter
the date of our birthdays;
every day we exist
should be celebrated.
Our presence is a gift.

Yet I die a little every time
when it doesn’t matter.
Details matter.
And I love all of our details.

Memories serve as my card catalog
to pull out certain pages of our story
at any point in time.
The who, what, when, where, and how;
all those details matter.

If you want to know the song that played
as we kissed on Christmas Eve,
I’ve got it.
If you want the song that played
as we made love in my college apartment,
I know that one, too.
For when I hear those songs again, I set myself
into that space, that moment, that Autumn afternoon
as the sun set and we slipped quickly into the night.

I have them all stored and ready to play,
just say the word.