love when the colours start actually working together
and as she snuggles herself closer
maybe to protect
maybe to watch
and the easel unfolds
and songs are repeated
as the creative starts to come out of her shell

The lights that flicker in the window
across the foggy sea
seem to whisper of the lives
That were always meant to be
The whispering of a lovers flame
The embers running slow
The fog of grief that seems to linger
Bringing in the cold
I once knew the woman
Who stoked a fire so bold  
But the home remains cold & empty
No jolly sailor bold
but light still flicker
Across the foggy sea
a little mantle to others
those who were never meant to be

crawl into the little tin with me
I’ll make space for you

actually I’m allergic to tin
that’s fine
I guess we’ll shudder in the freezing cold
together

I can’t anymore
whether it be time a cross or sea
the fog makes it impossible to know
just where to leave
the words
for you
from me

wished we talked more about wanting to be kissed

And how it is so very different when comparing to  wanting someone to kiss you.

You said it was the moments in between.

But really

It’s the moments frozen in time with you.

It’s the trivial patter of feet.
It’s way you squeezed my left hip just to let me know.
It’s the way you dry your hair and the world disappears.
It’s the way your head fully tilts back to laugh, and your voice drops a register. my breath only registering against your chest.
It’s the way you kiss my neck, breathing me in.  
It’s the way you allow me to know your thoughts, so that I may bottle them away to save them when I need to be enveloped in the ideas of you.
It’s the way you’ll dance with my two left feet, even though you know the way.
It’s the way your hands move when explaining versus describing, and the shifting of your brow.
It’s the way you tell me you love me and the depths hidden within your eyes.

While the moments in between may hold the foundations of your love,

It’s when time stands still

Where you hold me in the sunshine and the starlit sky,

It’s the way you tell me you love me, and I think I know why.

I hate nights like now

when I can hear the sputter and puttering of the rain
as it goes about its way
and I am left
thinking back on many nights
where I was out immediately
against a heartbeat and grumble

feeling a safety I haven’t known since

Sometimes
I forget the way your hip fits
and other times
I forget you like the heat
But never
do I forget the way you love me
in the daylight and in the sheets

I swear the whiskey tastes better
between little tears
the strum of a acoustic guitar
and those little ‘what happened’ moments

they say the eyes are the windows to the soul
I would argue
that the tables which we sit at
and the way we sit
is a far better indicator
as to how much soul someone has left to care for

because darling,
how you sit across from me
makes me wonder

whether anybody is home

he told me I was beautiful
but you would’ve told me I was stunning
and I now
have to go on
knowing you’d call me stunning, while he
he only calls me beautiful

its funny

to break for someone that is not yours
for dreams you did not have before

but i cannot spot picturing

Those little hands
as they stretched out for me

with all the trust in the world

and the way your smile
made me see
as we giggled

how there could be more

I would like to sear that memory
Of my shaking legs
and our running noses
into my very being
because the way you laughed
retelling me of my mortifying murmurs  
was the best thing I had ever heard
And the way your shoulders shook
and your head leaned back
as I reeled laughing into your chest
was that kind of moment
as the shower head kept us warm
that feels like ‘it’
where your effortless lean
and grin into the iced tea
was a moment I want forever
so I could laugh with you once more

Oh what a thing
To love and be loved

the letters drop carelessly from her lips

wait
not carelessly

calculated

waiting for prey

like a wolf under sheep skin

I wish for you to love me
against the hollows an the bones
I need for you to love me
so I can be whole once more

he said he wanted me in the worst way, and he really couldn't be more right
because he was willing to take an extra five seconds to make it seem like he cared
while I was craving connection
and we walked through some ways
to discover—— this way was the worst

I want there to be words to encompass the way his kisses across my collar feels like the nordic fires and metal smiths honing a blade with fierce determination.

the ones up my neck like the night the prodigal son came home. the oxygen in my lungs craving to be mixed with yours, to find it’s way home.

the way his lips taste the way liquor feels when a beggar finds refuge after a long day, craving morsels without sense.

the way his eyes furrow underneath mountains of wisdom from years gone by, like one about to decide a war, not the dress of red or black.

I need words to express the touch of him, like the celebration of a war over, when drinks may be had and songs to be sung, heaving great sighs of relief and joy for the future.

I want to whisper nothings to the wind and have it whisper back to me the echoes of his laughter across my navel.

but there are no words for such things. For the depths of passion are merely scratched by the word itself

rattling in your brain
god the guilt
it really does go for your stomach
and you sit there
in tears
on a random Thursday
because I can’t really be the worst person ever?
and as sobs rack
and half eaten boxes of Mike and Ike’s lay scattered
I start bleeding
oh right
hell hath returned

do you ever get sick of hearing
“I’ve never met anyone like you”
the way it rolls off their tongue
Like quarters in a roll
because
“I haven’t laughed like that with anyone in so long”
and I have to wonder
Why it feels no different to me
than an average
really no different
Tuesday

You caught me smiling and you thought it was for the world around us
in that moment,
I failed to tell you, that I was smiling for you.
Because of all the world in this earth, you are the world to me.

You asked me what made me happy
And I couldn’t sum up the words in that moment
To tell you it was how the red sun flashed across your eyes, lighting up your skin, setting your face aflame in golden light.
I couldn’t give you the colours or words
In how I loved the way the sun perfectly shaped to your face
Your nose
And your eyes

No language, no movement, no colour will ever be able to express the beauty you posses  

As You caught me smiling for you.

funny how poems sometimes slowly become mere diary entries
like it is normal for you to peek into my soul, from whatever corner or slice of internet you appear to be on.
the way connection can happen without sound or eyes on one another.
but you know me anyways.

you know the way i love art, of colour and how green seems to have a hold on me, but you may not know how terrified i am of being truly seen. you also know my partner loved to make me laugh, and held me like the stars were nothing compared to my smile, but maybe not the way he sounded explaining the differences between certain engines.

you know the way i have loved, and lost, but maybe not that some of it was my doing.

and as sips of wine becomes sips of bottles i am left to ponder such loss and love. maybe even lust.

as much as I love its whispers
the tangle with the heat
the littlest deaths
of everything but ego
and idolatry

the heat left scars
whispering ink
just left stains
nothing
really pretty
or even very neat

I quit drinking
and that was that.

if I could stay
existing
in that 15 minutes of a scalding hot shower
ice cold companion
with nothing but candlelight
and
wow that silence

There is something special in the way he holds my hand

There is something special in the way he kisses my forehead

There is something special in the way he rubs my back

There is something special in the way he holds my stare

There is something special- and it’s simply him.

To cling to a pillow
A curious thing
In love
Anguish
Anger
Or pain
A curious thing
To cling to a pillow

If only the films could capture
the imperfections of love:
like 3am arguments that mean nothing but a need to be heard.
When heads **** and clothes become struggles in the throes of passion.
the imperfections of the way you love yourself, but they love you anyways.
If only they could capture shuffles up stairs between moans and kisses.
and just capture the boundless love when love is imperfect.
If only.

it’s that static sound
you know the one

when everything is quiet
but not quite

and the walls seem the same
but I can’t recall

whether it’s 2:36
or 11:41

right when I lost it all

There are moments in life
we all have dreamed about
The cinematic snapshots
magically capturing that feeling
In a way that the world rarely allows

It’s the present moments

and I am oh so lucky to have found one with you

he played with my hair
as we talked
and I swear I could spend hours listening to him ramble on
like he isn’t the first person I peek around the corner to see his reactions

and they looked at me like I had another head
when I shrugged
because I don’t find that he speaks slow
he speaks
with intention, waltzing between heartbeats
or checking his steps
so I can catch my breath
in between the murmurs of mine

i wanted to be the one for you
not the one that got away

sometimes I worry I’ll be forgotten
but then I realize
I am an amalgamation of all the people I’ve met
that I can’t not look at chop sticks without thinking of that sushi date
or peanut butter without thinking of his spoon
that I say bother because of my best friend
and can hear him ask me what’s next

and I no longer have to worry as much
because if I can hold as much of the many with some names that have lost their vowels
but still hold the feeling

I’ll be just fine

Being remembered in little moments
of laughter
and maybe even tears
till they are gone too

Lines
    dropping
from head to toe

you watch

As my fingers
   Trace
from my neck to my left hip

dropping through a valley which releases a moan

Breath
   catching
As you watch
             happily

as i touch your favourite work of art

“I guess I fumbled this didn’t I”

and thank god I knew enough to pause
and take eighty four steps back
because what would’ve had me leaping into a pit
of guilt tipped spears

had me giggling
miles away
because darling you already know the answer

and are hoping
I’ll bite

Would you have waited for me
As I, you?
Did your ears ***** at the sweet mention of consonants that had kinship with your name
or could you have sat
as moonlight and daylight became distant revelations
becoming heresy that no longer changed how you wrote your name on the small of my back
Did you think
I would forget the smell of bourbon on your lips
chasing away the steel in your tone
No.
You wouldn’t have

Fetch my love
Please bring it round the bend
Sometimes it gets lost, every now and again
Tell it to me slow
Just this once more
Fetch me my love
Ah,
she shan’t be taken no more

flipping through pages
wondering if I lost the time
wandering around
looking for mine

watching through windows
working at waiting
will he really see me?
would he even find
a whisper of me
along the wet gravel lines
willfully — agonizingly
waiting for me?

when his kisses are pleasures
being refined upon my hips
and his hands
caress my shape
like a carpenter varnishing his workpiece

I question how someone could not be entranced

by the paintings scattered across his back
and the husk in his chuckle

I would think
most would give all they have
for one more fix

for his handy tools
and craftsmanship

‘I run the risk that I could get your perfect wrong’
he crooned with nothing
but the wistfulness
that every creative understands
whether
spending every breath trying to capturing their essence
or
refusing to attempt to capture their perfection because
how could you condense
the way his shoulders shifted
making the waves of his freckles find a new shore
and to think
i could capture the new rain his eyes crinkled with
between every smile
and every laugh.

“Ain’t words that could shoulder so much weight”
he sighs
and as the colours never quite matched his hair in the lakeside sun
i knew
that sometimes
the artist sits
across with their morning tea
with their greatest muse
opting for fingers over brushes
and years over pages

and just like that
the world clicks sometimes
and the most beautiful humans can transcend to the most horrifying figures
producing nightmares that should not exist
that render the shadows begging for the whispers of flame
but sometimes
out of the shadows
under echoes of hymnals
lays the softest silence
extending refrains
of the purest silk
that even the sirens, they could not replicate

I am sick of this
beige
of the way it sits against my chest
so that I cannot feel
too much
or even too little

I would tell time to come here so that I may dine her, in hopes to speed up the process. but she is late for our dinner once more.

And so I sit, holding a beige cup, with a beige sweater, in a beige room. Hoping it’ll ever turn transparent, so I may start again.

I love when I stumble across a
moment
where you know it’s one that will be encased in bubble wrap
Preserved with the jams and jellies
Coveted on the shelf
With all the good little memories I have with you
and the way your eyes crinkle when I laugh that particular way
so I smile
and remind myself to keep extra mason jars and bubble wrap
— just for such occasions

‘repressed rage’
she said
as I clung to the whitest porcelain
‘it’ll do that to ya’
leaning against the doorframe
and I swear I could tell you how many flecks of dirt were in the grout
For how many times
I’d worn in a spot from kneeling
‘it’ll figure itself out’
but I couldn’t hear
cause it just kept coming

I loved it for the way it was
not for what you wanted it to be

It was the way my breath quickened

And I could hear your grin behind me

It was the way you move

Both with all the energy and sharp movements of someone still understanding their abilities

Or maybe just a kid too excited to inhibit their movements

Likely that one.

It was the quiet whispers and booming voice

Dancing to put Shakira to shame, teaching Turner a thing or two about being her man

Both the gentle touch and strong grasp

It was the way you tilt your head when no words can describe that feeling

Both the subtle changes in excitement when it’s new or something new to me

It’s the way your arms feel safe

Without any hesitancy or retaliation

But then you’ll challenge me, without hesitancy and every intention for answers

And giggles turn to moans and groans turn to chuckles and fire turns to heat and heat turns to comfort

But then a connection point must be seen

Toes are viable solutions

It’s trivia at 1am when my brain sputters but yours is whirling and I can’t help but smile at your excitement to the world and all the people in it

It’s you knowing all seven layers of hell and deciding that that one layer humanity rests its head on is worth it

It’s who you are.  

Both who you are, and the person you strive to be.

I didn’t expect it that quickly.

I didn’t expect it at all, not really.

That feeling of freedom, of joy, of lust had yet only come from the ocean.

That echoing force of the breaking waves; wind whipping across skin to leave large smiles and even larger gaps in my soul. Paired with the peace of little murmurs from the ocean as it  beacons me forth. Drawing out my 3am yearnings and 4pm sighs.  

Only the ocean could call forth the passions and peace in me like that.

Now you.

You who snickers at 2000 leagues under the sea because nautical distances mean nothing to you.

You who reminds me of the sea in your powerful arms and howling voice. Your eyes matching the ever-changing colours within the ocean, remnants of emeralds and storms. The desires of all sea lovers culminated into your form.

The ocean that is you crashed into me, and I hope to god I am never cast ashore.