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.
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.
Above the streets, into the buildings & trees,
do you see what only we see:
a needed escape,
a kiss on the lips—
it takes us to the moment
where we rise into pure ecstasy;
there’s no other place we’d rather be.
tulle and ribbons
the most perfect gift,
where the two of them would unite
to protect the insides,
to hide from others
the chance of disappointment.
The more she gathered,
the more she prepared,
the more she fought to avoid
things that were destined to happen,
the more they came.
Pulling back the ribbon
on her handcrafted gift,
she now sees
how empty it is inside.
inside of you,
that constant voice
knows you better
than anyone else.
she’s been there
when no one else was.
she knows she’ll never
steer you wrong.
she’ll direct you forward,
& retract you
from uncomfortable situations.
no matter if they say otherwise,
listen to her.
friends know a side of you,
your lover knows another,
but she knows all of you;
all of your inner workings
shaping your heart
and points of view,
listen to her.
when the night is still,
when you’re in the midst
of looking across the room
but you’re 3,000 miles away,
listen to her.
she’s there to keep you
grounded yet dreaming,
enjoying yet wishing
that soon all will be right.
Click to listen to the spoken word track to the poem below, accompanied by ‘My Heart Is For You’ by Peter Sandberg
a poem of longing
a poem of remembrance
a poem of rage
a poem of hope
a poem to slip into your mind
a poem to never forget the story
a poem to purge the feelings
a poem of healing
do you ever get the feeling
we’re drowning in poetry?
day by day
inundated by poetry.
everywhere you go,
another social network
countless poets lost
among the broken hearts
with stories that rip deep into us.
events and notifications pop up constantly.
do this, do that.
see here, listen there.
read and absorb all the talented forms and poets that you can.
i sift through multiple journals and sites
encouraging all to “submit your best work!”
yet when does one have time to create when trying to keep up?
it’s in these moments where it feels best to retreat and figure out which method works best for me.
dab a little in other’s works, write a few lines here and there,
listen to a poem or two,
join an online reading and network when it feels right.
in true poetic form, the gatherings and discoveries excite and inspire.
part of having a poetic life is that poetry will always be there when you need it.
and yet there’s opportunity to take a break and resume again when it’s convenient;
it’s poetry, it’s not going anywhere.
inspired by The Last Night of Your Trip
on the train ride home
your smile flashed between buildings, lights flickered and i couldn’t tell if it was the spark in your eye or the streetlights beaming onto the dark streets.
i saw your smile and your hand
reaching for mine, those bedroom eyes that whispered “bring me to your hotel.”
we weren’t made for cheap
sex, we were poets who felt everything down to our souls. it wasn’t just one night with another, it was our lives coming together.
your smile chased me
between the streets. your breath next to mine will always be the one thing that sends me off to the sweetest dreams.
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.
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.
her name, her existence- a thorn in my side;
a sting, a puncture, knowing she captured the sought after prize.
though a thorn is easily removed and leaves only a slight wound,
i have become an empty vessel, void of a beating heart, bidding for its return soon.
unrelenting, unforgiving, i want to bend back her fingers one by one
as her tight grasp still consumes.
in any other circumstance, we might have been friends
but in this life we’re on opposite ends.
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.