Your heart of flowers blooming so brightly
making everyone's heart smelty
Everyone is attracted to your heart melted words
You are considered to be the most beautiful in and out
That is your specialty and that's the reality

Words elude me.
The pain I feel in your wake is indescribable.
My heart feels as though it left this world with you.
Oh I wish to indulge you in every whim.
Sparing nothing, not even the world.
Knowing that you’d be content with only the softest of caresses,
I wonder,
Is it possible that I would be even more pleased than you?

I remember the hidden chapel bells in her voice,
The little cloister of her abbey looks that opened
To a lovelorn courtyard of cisterns and well works,
The sounding pulleys and ropes from the springs,
I will miss her nothing said to my infinite misgivings.

For All That I Remembered
by Michael R. Burch

For all that I remembered, I forgot
her name, her face, the reason that we loved ...
and yet I hold her close within my thought:
I feel the burnished weight of auburn hair
that fell across her face, the apricot
clean scent of her shampoo, the way she glowed
so palely in the moonlight, angel-wan.

The memory of her gathers like a flood
and bears me to that night, that only night,
when she and I were one, and if I could ...
I’d reach to her this time and, smiling, brush
the hair out of her eyes, and hold intact
each feature, each impression. Love is such
a threadbare sort of magic, it is gone
before we recognize it. I would crush

my lips to hers to hold their memory,
if not more tightly, less elusively.

Published by The Raintown Review, The Eclectic Muse, Kritya, Gostinaya (in a Russian translation by Yelena Dubrovin), Boston Poetry Magazine, Freshet, Jewish Letter (Russia), Poetry Life & Times, Sonnetto Poesia, Trinacria, The New Formalist, Pennsylvania Review. Keywords/Tags: Memory, remembrance, love, name, features, face, hair, eyes, lips, mrbmem, crush, impression, recognize, recognition, remember, remembered, forgot, forgotten, angel, wan, night, flood

I am a nomad inside my own mind
I dwell in my thoughts for a short time
And then I’m off running
Through scapes of sandy dunes
Made up of sand crystals
That come from different dreams
Versions of a story waiting to be freed
And I run towards the water
Where happiness resides
Wandering over hills
Watching the sun set and rise
Looking at the stars
Searching for the times
When memories were moments
And my dreams were still mine

my first time picking up the handle
brandishing a weapon I feel like long forgotten
the lost mantle of a practioneer
a master if you will
so strange yet so fumilar
muscle memory a disaster
lashings of love slashes of hate
wounds so deep you can't erase the mistake
now my stance is off
each movement feels wrong
something inside still urges me forward
begs me to continue
now all is forgotten and only the feeling remains
my love for this violence welcomes me again
can you read this massacre
let me help you by turning the page
poetry my art form
the pen
my weapons name

Remembrance
by Michael R. Burch

Remembrance like a river rises;
the rain of recollection falls;
vague memories, like vines, entangled,
cling to Time's collapsing walls.

The past is like a distant mist,
the future like a far-off haze,
the present half-distinct an hour
before it blurs with unseen days.

Published by Romantics Quarterly. Keywords/Tags: remembrance, memory, memories, recollection, time, rain, river, mist, haze, blurs, past, present, future

dates changed,
months rotated,
and the years showed their back upon us.

it's been three years now,
since we met.

and yet again i find you there in
the same old hidden parking slot.
where the darkness ruled and light submerged.