heartache

I woke up this morning and I missed you.
Im trying to be careful but I wonder if there will ever come a time
When I won't wake up to feel this dull pain where my heart is said to be.

I remember the warmth and feeling of light spreading across my chest
Just because I woke up and saw your sleeping face.
I always want to touch you in these moments
Just to prove to myself that you are real -
This isn't a fairytale or dream.

There's nothing like falling asleep in your arms
And waking up to the sun in my eyes and you, glowing and beautiful.
but now there is rain and Im alone upon a familiar bed
Reaching out for something I can't have. That is no longer there.
And I try to remember, painting incomplete portraits of you.
I dream frail dreams that don't capture your light.
I spin and imagine different outcomes
That don't ring true without your voice to lead them.

I remember so much and forget a little of you every time you go away.
So please, if you're listening to anything I say,
return to me
So the world will be right again.

Ah, the wastefulness of grace.
All the beauty for naught.
The fluidity of movement that will not be remembered.
The flutter of wings that passes unnoticed.
All the sweet words I whispered to you
Unmark the world and die.
They slip like sighs from our lips
And flee into the night
To fade like shadows under the moon.

Every golden perfect moment,
Every sunset and lazy afternoon,
Every cold and quiet morning or breathlessly clear sky of stars
I longed to give to you.
All those moments of immaculate wonder,
But they die, fade,
Because I do not know how.

And if I could,
If I bound them up in nets of fairytales and dream dust
And presented them to you
How could you accept?
How would you even know what they were?
Would you laugh at me for being so foolish,
And release them
With a flick of your artful wrist.
To rise and form clouds
Far from a place of touching.
slipping from my fingertips,
... I will never hold them again.

dreams of eden

Long long ago in an ancient garden between two trees
So far away, I can still taste the dust in my mouth,
you whispered " This is what forever feels like."

This is what makes me long for you.

let me be your first love

I just wanted to be that girl,
you know, the one you saw waving in the wind in that perfect sundress.
The one who caught your eyes and heart by surprise.

And years later to your friends, or on some field or war, or maybe just in the private moments of yourself
you'll retell the tale.
Of how you were young ( or old) how you were just a boy
And I was to old for you but you couldn't realize it at the time
Or how I went away one summer and came back a woman.

Tell of how my kiss on the cheek was meaningless and we were only children
tell how you secretly treasured it until we kissed again one purfume drenched starry night under the same juniper bush.
Tell how love surprised you and knocked you off your feet. Tell how you had always known I was the one and held out for me and waited.

Tell how I've changed you
For the better or for the good
How we married like highscool sweethearts
or how you never saw my face again and that always bothered you.
Tell me of your first felt love with all it's emotions and jittery wires jumping off so seemingly unexpected and new.
Of all the losses of innocence and the understanding of how you were different and better and worse now.
All at the same time.
How losing was sad and a right of passage that we all must take some time
down back dirt roads in some dying ally of summer that we only remembered the way to when we were young.

love jornal notes

I've never been kissed like that.
Cupped my jaw with the slightest breath of fingertips.
Delicate moments stolen from fragile seconds
Trading this passion through the force of the thought
That there might not be tomorrow.

In that moment you changed me -
I now believe in the stories about love my mother told me.
I would often lie awake at night wishing, wishing a fools hope
That those stories would be true.
Like the fairytales I'd hear but know there's no way it could be real.

And now I stand here,
Hurricane rains kissing my face
Like your lips
Which fell again and again like a hand of violence.
Wishing they would leave me silent.
I am breathless and though
quiet, not speechless.
Our tongues tattooing out a morse code
On eachother
Of all the things we thought but it was too early
And fragile to make into sound.

I think I found I think I found
Racing through my head
Like dreams or secrets and other such whispers
That we lay there sharing after
Hands twined, shoulder to shoulder.
And you would not stop kissing me

Like this rainfall
Like these winds that blow away
The skeletons of our past.
Leaving us two blank slates to write on eachother
The beautiful love story of a future
As young as we are, in this moment,
Could be endless.

We complete in eachother a ring of endless light
Ringing with praises that reach out to the one who made us.
Thanking that throughout whatever series of unfortunate stumblings
Still led us to one another.
That all our imperfect choices made with imperfect hands
Could still make a past of sorrow into a life beautiful.

Love like this makes us infinite.

sirens call the siren tonight

She loved how men thought with a little persistence
She would just fall right into bed with them.

Her hair, soft brown ringlets falling with airy grace down her back
Was now chopped and dyed and patched over into an ugly chaotic mop
That was more statement then beauty.

Knew how to force intimacy,
Knew how to make others love her;
With her sweet eyes and fragile strength.
Knew how to ask questions, the right questions,
And make quick bonds.
Like fixes. Like drugs.
Like a precarious experimental game.
So delicately she spun out emotional ties
That wove themselves around eachother
And years later men called her still, they could not let go.

But she was done. Done with all that.
Enclosed in houses with looking glass dolls and predictable affection.
She longed for something beyond her power. Something she couldn't predict.
She wanted love that was a surprise with all it's beautiful colors and rough edges.
Its imperfection not whittled down into bubbles.

...