Wednesday, April 16, 2025

Catching Flies

Drawing new lines,
forming words, but barely.

My mouth is ajar, catching flies
begging for a buzz.

There's no light behind my eyes
this late at night
and you can read it on my face.

This state I'm in isn't contagious
but maybe it's best to stay away.

Another night
I put on the moon on ice,
but I'll survive another day
just staying in one place.

And after all I've seen
and all you claim to know,
tomorrow night
I'll just be putting on another show.

Tuesday, April 15, 2025

Tapestry

The ashy remains
of love that burned too bright,
but somehow never right.

Our tattered tapestry
weighs so heavily,
and I want at least a shred
of a memory to hold on to,
to love endlessly.

If an unsung ending
is what this needs,
I'll incorporate with our remaining threads.

I'll always have roots that lead back to you.

Every line, every fiber a reminder
of our now threadbare colors
turned vestiges,
faded to black.

Here, Again

Groundhog day
(oh, here we go...)
let me know if you see a shadow.

I was hoping for an early spring,
but I can see in your eyes
that won't be happening.

Would've settled for a rainy day,
but feelings are typhoons
when we're acting this way.

How did we get back here again?

Living in the shadow of a feeling,
fleeting,
and now just a memory.

We used to find comfort in the simple things
but now that those days are gone,
does anything still remain?

Maybe we started at the finish line
and with nowhere to go
we were wandering aimlessly.

Monday, April 14, 2025

Knowing

What now?

I can't help but wonder while
taking stock of the love
that should've been forever
if not for my mortal meddling;

I see it written in the stars,
hear it in the wind.

It leaves a void
never to be filled by another,
the heaviest empty.

Feelings turned phantom
turned haunting,
but maybe I'm not meant to
let this go:
my bones told me so.

I've never felt anything
so far outside myself,
this knowing.

And if it turns out
I have the power to project onto the stars
and I've been seeing my own signs all along,
I'd be as mystified as you.

But I know this to be true.

Tuesday, April 8, 2025

Spit

You spit my poems back at me
like hearing them in your voice
would change their meaning.

I liked it more when you
held your body against me,
instead of my words.

When I finally made you writhe
on my tongue,
you tasted sweeter than honey.

Then you climbed on top
and spit on me...