the innocence of youth,
however brief,
remains
sheltered in
the deep sulci of the
brain;
hidden,
almost forgotten,
like vestigial organs that
mark
a species’ ancestry,
as if to say:
this is who i am,
who i was.

but eventually, all the metaphors fall apart
and come to nothing
like paper dissolving in water
fanciful words dissolving with it
and without romanticized phrases
and rose-tinted writings
there is only unembellished truth

A broken heart
Is filled with memories
Over your head
Like a stormy cloud
That even passing time
And new love
Can’t ever fully erase.
It comes at 2 a.m.
With your love asleep by your side
When the sound of their laugh
Fills your dreams
And worst nightmares.
It’s holding your lovers hard
And hating yourself
For the memories
Of the way their skin felt
Pressed against yours.
It’s going on a date
At a spot that used to be yours
And fighting the tears
As you remember the way they smiled
Each time you arrived.
It’s hearing their name
And feeling your heart stop
Because that word
Hasn’t left your lips
Since they left
And you found another.
It’s hearing your love
Humming your song
And remembering the way t felt
When you loudly belted it in the car together
With out a care in the world.
One never fully recovers
From a broken heart
But finds distractions
To cover the ache.

They say there’s beauty
In pain
But what is beautiful
About sitting on the bathroom floor,
Tears dripping
Into a puddle of blood,
And crying
Until your breath stops?

i finally remembered what it was
to feel happy and content
instead of just "not sad"
the sun comes around more often
sticks around longer
it paints my world in colors more beautiful
than those it gives the sky because suddenly,
when my friends laugh , i can too
and i am loud again
and instead of walking, i skip
suddenly, instead of dreading the day,
i wake up to moments full of potential
and i worry less about every single thing i do
suddenly, being with people
is as invigorating as it used to be
once upon a time ago.
of course, the rain will come again
and the sun will leave with summer
and it is then, especially, that i will hurt again
but suddenly, i have hope.

i.
I feel like my legs have been stamped
and sent around the globe -
perhaps one flew to Austria to hear
the string quartet that stole my heart,
and the other walked to Amsterdam in
hopes of finding the soul I sold,
now stored on a shelf in a mason jar.

ii.
There is no metaphor,
only mileage -
a life lived long enough to realize
that love speaks louder than language,
and all an artist can do is strive to
describe the strangled kiss with
hit and miss letters,
myself no exception.

iii.
I remember tearing a photograph in two
and trying to stitch a half of each of
our faces together - forcing them to fit.
When I looked upon the product, the monster
I'd created, my legs began to shake.

The trap was set by the light of the winter blue moon ;
just a simple blank sheet of paper and a pen
The Antique Cherry carved poster bed stood alone ,
adorning four Bordeaux colored silk pillowcases ,
fluffed feather pillows impatiently laying in wait
The stone cold down comforter that blanketed the loneliness
was neatly turned down from where it lay tucked and rolled ...

I close my eyes with a surrendering sigh ;
the cold touch of solitude brings a breathtaking shiver
Curling up in a fetal ball for a sense of closeness ,
like a tiny abandoned child, waiting for the sandman
to steal away the remains of another lonely day ...

In the imperative silence of the moonlit stillness ,
you could hear the blood running through my veins
The pounding heartbeat is reluctantly softened
quietly drifting off into a dream ...

The first arousing whisper broke the silence ,
as musings tiptoed through the silent reverie
Songs danced throughout the secret places ,
safely kept out of the wilderness' nocturnal voyeurs eyes
Words murmured expose an unsated caged yearning ;
an insatiable thirst that aloneness can not quench ...

Emotions ebb and flow within the twilight depths
of our thickly breathed word play
Intertwined in the infinite beauty
of enchanting moonstruck conjured delights ...

We glide speechlessly in the starlit moon dust,
levitating blissfully like giddy adult playmates
with  an  uninhibited  wanton  glee
Mesmerized by a rousing romantic essence
stirring up an urgent swooning breeze
If only this recurring dreamfulness
could reach out beyond reach a bewitching dream
to tenderly touch another impassioned heart of soul ...  

                                 ~

The sweat soaked sheets are now tangled ,
twisted traces of ecstasy tossed and turned
Awakened flesh trembling with the uncovered morning chill
A body drained and exhausted
as if there were never a moments sleep ...

The trap was set by the light of the winter blue moon ;
perfectly placed to catch the spilled secrets
of a moonstruck midnight spell
Awakening to find a paling illusion’s memory
laid bare in words, stranded on the cotton sheets of dawn ~

In the heat of the night these three simple words 
were clearly scribbled, trapped on the once blank sheet of paper ―
                       to remind me in ink blue ...

                               It  is You !!!

                                    and

               " I breathe you in my dreams "


             harlon rivers ….❤  happy belated St. Valentines day ☽

Her hands are always cold
To match her heart
As she wakes up each morning
to put on a mask.
She sees all the colors
The world has to offer
But only shows black and white
To keep the spectators wondering.
She knows how to layer
Because it’s cold outside
And she can’t let it in.
Her eyes are clueless
Because life feels new
And the fear of the unknown
Creates her limit.