Posts for June 28, 2023 (page 6)

Thank you, lord.

Thank you, lord.

Thank you, lord.

Together,

we play.

We play.

We play.

Sitting on your words,

digesting two swords.

Oh! I wasn’t really even listening.

two deep breaths,
oxygen flowing through my nostrils
down my wind pipes to my lungs
filling thier sacs of elastic alveoli with air

its subconscious as the oxygen is
seperated from nitrogen in my body
and good breath is put into my cells

my heart beats rhytymically,
pumping my blood cells through my body
delivering oxygen through veins
to keep my brain and being alive

another breathe, another step
moving towards more living

Your ghost is the only thing you left behind

The wisps of smoke that I grasp at, only for them to disappear at my fingertips

Only to leave me unfulfilled

I almost wish you’d given me closure, I still ache for it sometimes

All you gave me in the end was the feeling that I’ll never be free of you

The memory of you is faded now

Just flashes of black and red

But those feelings… the feelings stayed

The feeling of my hair standing up on the back of my neck

The feeling of my stomach dropping off the edge of a cliff

The stench of sulfur lingers in the ice cold air

Like time is frozen

Like I’m forever stuck in that place, under your control

Your hands wrapped around my throat

Choking out what little life was left in me

And yet, I still loved you

-you didn’t even give me the dignity of a last breath

for the rebel cartographers

Sharing stories of blood kin and life’s travails
Celebrating roots and dreams
Swimming in oceans of words
Scaling forests of images
Remarking whale song and moon shadow
Building fires to fight night terrors
Writing a family with ink in our veins and poems littering our tree

Do you not know the joy of cold percale?
Of catching an eye from across the room?

No, I live in a neutered age
filled with overwhelming rage.

Because I have had butterflies
since you responded to my text.

Because that is how I feel
when lightning strikes, because
love feels like a death fall.

Because I am pulled over at the CVS
on my way home and telling you this.

Because you might wrap your fingers
into my hair, pull me in, kiss me,
scam the strength and silk that is left.

Because I don’t even know who is
the kindest person in your office,
or if the people who raised you
are still alive, or if you feel the same.

Because, love can be imitated.

Because love hunts me like a panther,
it drops from night trees,
love screams for me and looks to kill,
love is perfect, calm, serene.

Because 80% of all communication is non verbal
and you are still wiping the blood from your lip. 

Words are the smooth swimmer in that opening scene.

Markings on the calender
signs of a madman.
Times and release dates
lessons and birthdays.
Brunch on Thursday
Work at 4:00.
Once a week
ever neat
crossed out on the page
next year’s a leap year.
Pens in a planner
planner in a backpack
backpack on the wall
ready for August.
By myself
coffee on a Monday.
Keys on a carabiner
turn down the Billy Joel
and give me 2 seconds.
Beat up Vans in the backseat
the canvas is falling off
worn to the bones
but never put to rest.
Romanticize academia because you have to
you won’t survive if you don’t.

Enter slowly.
This is not
a picnic
at hanging rock.
You will not
be wearing
a white dress;
you are far
beyond that.
You will walk
upon moss
and lava
between a sea
of trees.
Malevolence
will fall
to the ground
like a dark fog.
Even your
compass will not
save you.
If you see,
or think you see,
a corpse
or part
of a corpse,
return your eyes
to the path
quickly.
You do not
want to get lost
here. When
you scream,
no one
will hear you.

Child, do not let Darkness play thief with fair Moon, nor Sun with sapphire Sky. 

Fire-red and ice-blue — what wonder! — birthing amethyst, wisteria. 

Wistful is Water: silence ripples where birdsong trills, a sunk chorus.

One of your oldest friends said
I have your eyes.

And I wonder if I see the world the
same as you did.

Probably not — it evolves as it revolves —
yet I saw you.

Everyday work, being paid for kindness
with nursing hands.

Everyday love, raising kids and six churches —
THE preacher’s wife.

Everyday wonder, dreaming of Britain and babies —
my phone anchor.

Every day longed for. Eight years now.
Never not missed.

You remind me of a Cage the Elephant song

With your dry wit and boyish orneriness

Back when your blonde hair curled past your temples

And your blue eyes glistened every time I’d make you laugh

The way you would stay awake at night to watch me sleep

Lying, stating it’s because you couldn’t find rest

But I knew you watched me with such tenderness you were afraid to honor

When occasionally you would brush my hair away from my eyes

Gentle fingertips grazing past my ears

How every time I pressed my face into your flannel

You smelt warm like cedar mingled with some fancy cologne

But when your clothes were off you smelt like the rain

Sinewy muscles dotted with freckles and moles I’d trace when I’d kiss you

The tip of your nose always touching mine and how this always made you smile

Your thin lips were always moist and longing against mine, but you also seemed lonely

You had this almost feral heat and desire when you were with me, but it was always mixed with something gentle

I still can’t guess what that to be