Let me slow this breathing,
quiet this suddenly inspired mind,
space feeds on my silent tears
as they trickle through the phone line
and drop by your Bluetooth speaker.
If you notice my voice break
blame the signal in Chicago,
too exotic to tolerate ten minutes
of a northern English tone
but the sounds are company to someone,
and the sweetness of subtleties.
This empty hotel room
senses the lack of you,
scent lingering on sunken pillows
smells bittersweet, blended with jealousy
as my heart bottles this moment,
cap screwed on tight
in an effort to capture perfection
before it leaves on a plane.
I belong to the longing
and gather what stays,
your tiny imprints and easy mornings,
how you take your coffee,
the fit of your arm
as it curls around my waist.
Time’s precious reminder to stay present,
so I’ll take one of everything you sell
and make each bite last
until the market stalls open
with even more of this good for sale.
Today I’ll sit right in the middle of it,
in the thick, dense, lush bustle of love.
It does not do me any good
to exist on the periphery of this one.
Feel the pulse of my heart beat
as it runs through your finger tips
and turns your lips the richest mix
of red and pink. Forget all future things;
now is for sinking into our spirits,
the way yours sparkles through your eyes
and I’ve lost all doubt in universal signs,
spellbound in this spotlight for as long as it shines.
You’ve conjured up an aura that preoccupies my mind
with fascination for how the chapters in our stories
might use the time these bodies
find themselves writing the same lines
on the same side of the page.
It’s a choice I will make a thousand times
every day afresh, the pull and push,
can I turn to the care
to the love that is staring back?
You are free to leave
find another pulse to crave your heartbeat
but I did not brave World War Three
for an amputation, aborting possibilities
from the spirit glowing inside of me.
Let me treat you to a lifetime
of the softest words, sprinkled over skin,
I will patiently saturate each layer,
wait here till every drop soaks in.
It’s December 2016, and we pack these winter blossoms
into bento boxes, whispers of potential
to warm these bones, worn as a wish
but later wrapped as a promise.
You profess you cannot understand poetry
so brave the words in plain sight, born of longing
for a lighter spring, a bold leap towards belonging
to the flow of the seasons and folded limbs.
‘More fun’, you said, ‘more time’, list reasons to celebrate
our intertwining lives and smile at the story so far.
The story; so far.
Blotches of ink stained skin, tinted purple,
they deserve the warmth of my hands
attached to this cold heart.
Yours, thawed enough to form a scoop of promises
with chocolate chips still frozen enough to crunch if I was hungry,
still frozen enough to hold hope in hibernation.
with a crowd
of one hundred dancing strangers
from speakers announcing
the way the corners of your eyes
curl upward towards the sun
when you smile,
with the brush
of your hand against my waist
the rest of this place
could be nothing but particles.