Sepulchre SolaceIt doesn't matter that I can't see your eyes, love.
I've already memorized the deep azure,
and if I stare deeply into the night sky above
I can find their hue, their shimmer in the twinkling starlight.
So it is of little matter that they remain closed
as I lie beside you on your bed of satin,
twisting my fingers through your long, dark hair.
It is longer than when I last saw you,
as you drew shallow, shaky breaths, and I drew you against me,
your frail form clutching with feeble strength
before they took you away.
They didn't want us together, love, you see.
So they hid you away from me, tried to tell me you were gone.
But I knew they lied - you would never leave me.
I heard you calling my name,
summoning me back to you, drawing me to your bed.
Your image haunting my steps until I found your face again:
so pale now - I remember how you used to blush
when I touched you like this; but not anymore.
Now I know you long for it - you're so cold.
So I exhale warm breath against your face
Daylight ForsakenDo you remember when Aurora:thumb212244410: :thumb211801812:
invoked dawn in the sky above us?
How we watched her colors spread
above the highway, the gas station - across the fields,
painting reality in vivid splendor
as we traversed its mundane streets
bathed in the frail whispers of possibility?
We disappeared into the trees
where we spilled our secrets,
let them echo in the early morning stillness
of the orchards; a murmured resonance
played to the tempo of our heartbeats.
We didn't even care when reality invaded
[in the form of an angry farmer]
and shooed us back into its clutches;
it could not break the spell.
Or the night we lost hours
in each others' eyes,
[you knew I was afraid of eye contact - too vulnerable; you changed that]
finding our way out only when the sun
cast his rays upon your face.
So we left behind the cover of night
and emerged into the light
of a new day.
Or the time
you let me drive your car
in high-heeled hiking boots.
[but only on the back roads, away from civilization]
I thought about how I cut my palm
falling on sharp rock
while we searched the lost and found
of the sea, hoping for treasure.
I wondered if the ocean
would take our lives as payment
for the wares it could not recover
until high tide -
when we would be long gone,
warm inside the cottage on the bluffs,
admiring our pilfered discoveries,
safe from the sinuous fingers of waves.
While outside the foghorns bellowed
and the mist crept in
through cracks too small to see,
seeping into our seaside refuge,
to once again caress
the lost shards of its kin.
I watched the blood swirl in the water
as white sea foam rushed forward
to collect its bounty:
a willing sacrifice.
I knew that I would cherish the wound:
a memento of the windswept shore.
I cradled it lovingly, as the pain throbbed
and I resumed my search,
studying discarded skeletons
and abandoned homes, now too small.
I wondered if their inhabitants
were ever homesick, ever felt longing
for those husks they had outgrown,
for the misshapen piec