Placing the slightly uncomfortable moment into a jar to open every now and then
to feel that instant in time. The moment when everything made sense and people
were people, you were you and I was finally myself.
Placing the scent of that afternoon into parchment. The scent of the beginning
of melting asphalt, of intoxicating petals breathing a sigh of relief
to the night. 'Oh it's you,' they whisper, 'thank goodness.'
Placing the sight of the sun into a bottle of swirling liquid. White orange
pink indigo. The ball of flames is etched into their eyes, the oval of mouths
and their furious blinking will never erase the negative circle tha
In a pink round box
you can find:
business cards from where
our ghosts haunted
movie stubs from where
we dissolved into other worlds
and money from a different
There's a grieving bird
that keeps fluttering in my chest
and picking my throat raw.
As familiar as it is
it needs to be set free,
to fly away and become
white glitter on a background.
Bathing in a tub above all others
the water is cool with the fear
that chases us onto rooftops.
When the grieving process begins
after the first thunderclap
there will be eyes that caress features
eyes that chase the bubbles,
eyes that transfix upon hands
and eyes that burn like candles.
There will be ivory roses that blush like burning bones
while an orange glow throws relief on faces and
dances upon spines of books and bars of cages.
It will light up the bones of china, the bones of tea,
the bones of elephants and the bones that bruise backs
We should be timing our landings and sparing our thoughts; pennies, dollars and shillings for each wisp of one.
We should be licking our lips and wishing for more than one thing while epiphanies and raincoats drape our posture and petty heartbeats.
We should know that love is on the moon where it moves water and the dust of diamonds that prickles the indigo black canvas.
When the clouds gather and as the sky releases her burden be assured that we can still see the crescent that is cut into her skin.
That skin that is pale with surrender, that voice that is ethereally uncomprehensive and her paintings that are full of ornate detail and
Gold and silver glitter on painted faces
their hair is orange liqueur
and they wear too much yellow.
Blue and purple glitter filled eyes
their mouths are wide open in awe
while they run hands over silky skin.
She is lying with her head and shoulders dangling off the bed
the world is upside down
and the blood is pooling at the bottom of her skull.
Stars appear on the ground
and rivers run through the sky
as she licks the sticky sweet gloss from her pink lips.
Their voice is ethereally uncomprehensive
their paintings are full of ornate detail and
A fear that is duplicated for sentimental reasons
as it's hard to forget the fluorescent gorgeousness of her skin.
Bravery will become a novelty
while beneath torrential rain a more meaningful story starts
It is bruised, though velvety smooth
it is patient, though never beautiful.
we should be timing our landings
and sparing our thoughts
pennies, dollars and shillings
for each wisp of one.
we should be licking our lips
and wishing for more than one thing
while epiphanies and raincoats
drape our posture and petty heartbeats.
we should know that love is on the moon
where it moves water and stars
but as the clouds gather
and as the sky releases her burdon
we can still see the crescent
that is cut into her skin.