my love

i carry a piece of you on the tip of my tongue it spills out sometimes and fills strangers ears creeping up on them like an echo the repetition keeps me sane in constant avoidance of the fear that you will eventually disappear if you cease to exist  in my nostalgic imagination and sometimes i'll swallow this tiny piece of you it'll slowly flow like honey through my veins to keep me warm as i lay here touch-starved in silence,  involuntary silence a mess of my own making loud echos turn to whispers as i'm hanging by a thread my memory works overtime to remember what you've said sometimes i wish you were softer so i have no time to overthink maybe it's me who needs to harden and stop seeing things in pink and red and endless tints my emotions get the best of me on occasion, i won't deny but with everything left so incomplete i look for answers in the sky so for now i'll keep my piece of you tightly on my tongue until i finally find out the things that until no...

 nothing feels more lovely than a sunday morning window ajar soft rain on the glass the smell of wet grass creeping through the gap half-awake eyes hazy body warm time eternal and gentle and oh so blissful this moment is revolving around the hand that i'm holding the world outside is grey but inside this room is golden everything a shape i can hardly make out anything other than the closeness of your mouth to mine as we sleep in perfect solitude on this lovely sunday morning that i hope never ends

faint lines traced by fingers soothed by lies and aloe vera they spell out my failure touched by an angel or cursed by lightening  spending my life on lightening oils and creams when they get angry and red stretching my patience and my confidence thinner and thinner oh to be thinner how beautiful would that be yet here they remain a constant reminder  that i used to be bigger my thighs thicker and stomach softer than right now fear penetrates through me the desire to keep proving that i can lose it and be wonderful i couldn't possibly keep it and be wonderful that's impossible to me yet maybe one day i shall see them as lovely tiger stripes earned in a lifetime  proof that i have existed loved and grown my body moving with me wherever i may go

i'd never seen them so clearly the freckles on my skin felt weather-beaten upon their first meeting in the very early evening with the brightest stars in the sky, walking for miles with reason just the desire to keep going fresh air slowing my breathing as my mind races freely writing love-letters i'll never send stories without end i could hardly comprehend the beauty of it all the feeling of being small yet a part of something bigger these walks began to trigger something inside me not sure what it was exactly but i wish i could spend an eternity walking in faux safety underneath the blanket of the sky that gives me the freedom to cry and dream away from others judging eyes it makes the time go faster a temporary plaster to bigger problems set aside but i can't stop thinking that after this endless sleeping and struggling those stars are awaiting my return

and i wonder if we lay there a little while longer you looking into my eyes for what felt like the first time you'd have seen the things i wanted to say floating around inside my brain because none of them could find their way through my lips and off my tongue stuck in the back of my throat and i choked every time i tried to say something you'd want to hear maybe in reality my greatest fear was that nothing i'd ever say was what you'd want to hear at any time or any place so with my hand still resting on your face for maybe the last time i'll kiss you instead so all the thoughts inside my head will remain the things i left unsaid but maybe you felt them just for a second i'll allow myself to pretend

i could never keep a journal or a diary anything with a beginning a middle and an end whose lines must consist of reality facts without a shred of uncertainty it all felt far too grandiose to think my life was worth writing let alone reading as all diaries ultimately are by stranger or by lover to be critiqued and compared to inspire yet i could never get the words out the voice was never my own i spoke as anyone other than myself anyone more interesting captivating groundbreaking in contemplating than me, a third person who remains a mystery is it not enough to write impulsively? on emotion on accident in haste and in love letting feelings rise above the un-writable normalities for a poem written in a moment of passion or foolishness, of despair and of hate will last generations longer even if just for an hour at a time every time these poems are not just mine they're in everyone i just write and write and write them once in a while a journa...

i don't usually write anything before my poems, but i thought this deserved a comment. this was intended to be a prose piece but i'm usually incapable of coherent thoughts and decided to just keep writing until i'd said everything i wanted to say. i'm finding lockdown is hard and i just wanted to talk about it. so here's some poetic prose spring is fleeting yet eternal. we are constantly waiting for its arrival. it arrives loudly and leaves quietly. cherry blossoms are encapsulating and overbearing and gone within days but for two weeks the earth is decorated with dancing pink silhouettes stretching across the sky. the relief from winter and the prerequisite for summer, spring works hard to bring the earth back to life. i think spring started not long ago yet i have hardly seen it from the smallness of my window. an appreciation for my garden has inexplicably grown as high and strong as the flowers climbing the bricks of my home, without it i might have never ha...