Her

I couldn’t help but stare

at the bare skin

of her stomach.

My lips earned

to brush across

it’s smooth surface,

skating like ice

and leaving a chill

in my wake.

Those icy blues pierced me

like the snowy wonderland they were

but if they looked so cold

then why am I the one who’s frozen on the inside?

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Blue Violets

As if sprung from fresh spring rain

two violets peep from a dirty landscape

smiling with pebbles that scatter around their roots.

Aqua eyes blinking in the daylight

and sleeping away the night

when fireflies buzz by

tinkling little laughs

that echo yours.

Soft lips forming words I cannot hear

as I stare at the blue violets

which suddenly have become so clear.

My fingers wish to glide

across supple skin

and I yearn

to learn what those blue violets look like

up close.

Yet the temptation does break reality,

so I watch across

a lake of yearning

and only cross over

under the cover of night

wrapped in dreams rampant with hope.

When those blue violets open to the golden rays of sun

all that remains

is a violet

to be pondered upon

by an innocent beauty.

Dancing with Shadows

We dance with the shadows

mapping out the words we want to say

with our bodies movements

and pointed feet.

Our muscles strain as we support the other

flying through the air

as if without gravity to guide our senses.

We remain unhinged from reality

stretching the lengths of time

as our bodies twirl

and dip

bending towards each other

only to slip away again.

We are two dancers

trapped in an icy world

of our own

dancing away the time

with only the shadows

to give us the hope

that we still exist.

Le Monde Rouge

 

Le ciel est peint en rouge,

le soleil est brûlant avec des larmes,

le sang coule dans les rues.

 

Les murmures caressent l’air de tristesse

et ils écrivent les mots de la tristesse

mais nous ne pouvons pas lire

quand tout est floue.

 

Les blessures sont froides

dans l’air glacial

et nous tenons tous

notre souffle

resteront avec nous.

Nous avons peur de lâcher prise

quand tout ce que nous voulons

est à remonter le temps,

—–
Je t’aime, Paris. Mes pensées sont avec vous.

In It Together

We grasp at the ladder

fingers slippery from past mistakes.

.

Hearts pounding in unison

the darkness claws at our heels

as our mouths open

in silent screams.

.

Suspended by invisible lines,

hair dangling in thick air,

movements too slow,

time too lost to breath.

.

If only mistakes could be wiped,

words left unspoken,

actions unwound.

.

We are met in matrimony

as our eyes meet.

.

Our hands are raised,

our palms kiss,

and then we let go.

.

The darkness is cold as we plunge

but our bodies are colder,

locked in a frozen embrace.

Icy Warmth

You took me in your arms

and ran your fingers down my spine.

You whispered words of hushed promises

and laid me down upon the grass.

 

The night was dark

but your eyes were my lamplight

glowing like golden honey.

 

And as I tasted your lips

I felt something cold.

Your hands let fall an ice cube

down the back of my dress.

 

A shiver cascaded down my frame

and my back arched –

pressing my body into you.

And when it had finally melted into my warmth

I had melted into yours.

My Puzzle

I thought I could heal

all the shattered fragments

of your bones

with a kiss.

I thought I could heal

all the fractures in your mind

with words lining paper

and love barely concealed.

I thought I could heal

all that was not whole

and piece you like a puzzle

till you fit once again

but I forgot

to heal another

one must be healed themselves.

The Forest’s Secrets

We stood among the spindle trees; letting their frozen fingertips tangle in our figures and the soft earth from which they fed to line the rough soles of our feet with bashful kisses. As we crouched low the strands of our hair caught and were held aloft, creating a spiderweb of russet and caramel. We watched one another through the tickling light, the shadows of our faces only growing stronger, till like the moon, craters of darkness completed our complexation. Yet despite the omniscity of our bodies our eyes were fixated. Across matching pale cheeks and sunken eyes they traveled, as the air shivered with the mingling thoughts of intimacy. The trees sighed their withered songs of the future, watching as fingertips met. Two hands, identical in hidden matrimony. Each grew colder than the other, until their blood became so icy that it began to burn. Like fevered passion it swept up their arms and up to their faces, which twisted in the light and gleamed speckled smiles. As their hair brushed, intermingling with a whisper of osculations, their faces tilted. They fell together then, until finally two lips met and their tainted eyes shut, blocking out the prying sun so that they were alone and just another secret that the forest kept.

Window Girl

Small fingers traced over dirty glass and across the smudges of old fingerprints pressed there by another. Over the frame they went, the rough wood pickling smooth fingertips, and above the cold steel of a padlock they skimmed. Dark brown eyes peered out from sunken sockets, and twiny auburn locks fell limply on hunched shoulders. Defeat took it’s place upon the girls shadowed face, which angled up towards the waning light as if it could give her release. Eyes tracked the empty street below, watching for anyone. She counted each brick in the crumbling house across the street again – knowing what the number would come out to. A sliver of movement caught her eye then, through a broken window on the upper floor of the old house. A spark lit in her usually subdued eyes.

He was back.

Muscles rippled as he pulled off a stained shirt, back turned towards her shivering frame. She watched closely, nose pressed against the glass, breath causing misty clouds to form on the frigid surface. He continued with his routine she knew only too well. A cup of coffee, one spoonful of sugar, a sip, then another spoonful. Then a short walk to the fridge where pictures of were taped. When he reached into the fridge she already knew what he would be getting. A small cup of chocolate mousse, a treat to end his day. Sweetness she herself had never experienced. Then he sat down on his computer chair, taking a slow, elongated bite of his chocolate. Feet tapped a rhythm against the floor, light-hearted but full of purpose.

She knew what was coming.

His chair creeped around, turning his body to face the window centimeter by centimeter. His eyes found hers immediately, and a hitch caught in her throat. He could see her. Every time he looked out of that window and caught her eye, she felt the jump of surprise. For how many months and years  had she heard that she was no one, a nothing, a mirage that did not exist – worthless. Yet here he was once again, and now his hand was at his cheek, tracing a light line down from his ear to mouth. She knew what he was saying. Her own fingers reached up to touch the new wound. A dark line of red, puckering at the middle. She didn’t flinch – she couldn’t put anymore sadness into those deep blue eyes. His lips formed words then ones she could never decipher, and his palm rose to press against the glass of his opposite window. Resting her grimy forehead against the windowpane, she replicated his gesture. Then, like always, she sucked in a deep breath, pretending to be breathing the same air as he, and closed her eyes, imagining that it was just a cold palm her hand was touching, and not a boundary that she would never live to cross.

My Nightingale

Once you were my nightingale

A sanctuary for traveled minds
born from years of solitude
years of dark despondency.

But when my hands greeted yours
light propelled to the aphotic corners
of my mind.
A beacon you were to me
A saint from Heaven I could not believe.

It looks like Nirvana has reclaimed you.

For once you were my nightingale,
And now you’re no more.

Opaque eyes of sightless staring
Frozen wisps of partial words
hanging off your still lips.
Not a shudder or a tremble
as my fingers fleet across your hair
a ripple impeding serenity.

You’re icy now.
Black and blue paints a picture
upon your freezing skin.
Icicles hang above,
frigid tears of forlornity
paralyzed at first touch.

Once you were my nightingale
And now it seems I am alone
with what could have been
what was in memory
and what I wish I had.

Ever so gentle I lean
A tower close to crumbling
And my lips meet yours
In one final part
But my tepid breath cannot breathe life
into a departed soul.

Nor can my warmth be shared
And so when I leave
You grow cold once again.

Once you were my nightingale
And now you are no more.