Clear

The worst part is that there is no obsession. No craving. I am not passionately thinking of you in the sunset’s silky glow, and I, the breathless horizon patiently waiting to be wrapped in the drunken warmth of your prismatic embrace.

There is none of that.

I sit here. Clear headed and winded. When we converse, I walk around and gesticulate, but after the goodnight bid flees our lips I am frozen again. My heart is stop motion cinema and you control the lens. Every click of your affections makes my whole world shudder, and I blink-

And wanna do it all over again.

I am the poet with the pen, but I wanna give you my notebook and a stack of pencils. So that when you leave, I can breathe deep of your eraser shavings and remind myself that love doesn’t have to be perfect to work properly. Sometimes it’s about the fingers writing the letters- canvassing caresses over the curses even if it’s done sloppily. Soft sigh. Slow motion eye flap. Your name is my homily.

I don’t miss you, am not love blinded by you, am weighed down by no obsession… Which is the worst. Because that means you’re not a phantom and whatever we’re developing… is real. When words lapse, I peacefully count the ticks between your breaths. I am in no hurry with you, because I’m not afraid to lose you, which is justified because you’re not mine and I’m not yours too.

… but maybe I wanna be.

In the end though, it’s all just a burnt mission. Feelings betray Jedi, that’s why I fein indifference. Romance is a cameo, brief character sans appearance. 

The only true love stories are fan fiction…

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And There Was Her

I don’t know what I want… or fully what I am… But I know what she is. I recognize her like the foggy haze of a dream stolen from the hearts of better men.

She is thunder in the storm, a voice cutting through the chaos giving purpose to the light.

She is my best kept secret, hidden away in chambers of love so deep I’ve yet to discover it for myself.

A deluge of sparkling fireworks, scalding the adoration clean off my tongue, rendering me speechless.

She is the cinnamon scent of well scored holiday cinema…

She is the candle I light when I don’t know what else to do and night won’t let me sleep.

A roaring delight, volcanic passion thinly wrapped.

She is a universe of unspoken divinity and I, a priest desperate for the prayer to charm her…

She is the aspiration of the ocean, the magic patiently sought by stardust.

A flower spinning petals through the bar room air, dashing the drowning depths of escapism with her dazzling photosynthesis.

She is the pause in my cadence, that sacred word just on the tip of my tongue that I can’t ever seem to remember…

She is the solitude of the hero and the flag of the warrior- nobility knows no identity without her.

An unblemished flaw, juxtaposing past and prologue, disturbing the stories swirling all around me with her reckless dedication to being so in the moment that all others fall away…

She is the response to our Lord’s very first command.

Let there be light…

And there was her.

###

Frozen

I can feel the ice beneath my feet. This mountain peak tastes like the first time I ever had Christmas dinner with someone else’s family. Heels slip and my toe sinks into a frosty puddle of regret that sets me shivering.

Getting weak at the knees. 

Who knew freedom from you meant loneliness with me. 

I scream from between the falling trees of Mount Everest’s seams and I know it made a sound… there’s just nobody around to tell me what it means. I’m like the smartest person in the world- all out of degrees- but it is the two who are better than one, for when they lie down, they have heat.

Where do I climb to next, when jumping would be my greatest delight? Or maybe not. Beneath this thermal underwear is a suit of armor I built from lightning… protecting the deepest scar I ever got of being abandoned by someone I always thought would be right beside me.

I’ve been squinting into the wind chill, Jesus swag, for so long, I can’t always tell when my hallucinations are generating mirages anymore.

Are you real?

Are you just like me?

Or are you too much like me.

The rain becomes my company and the sleet my faithful lover. They never speak. They never understand a word I say. Flicks of crystallized isolation discarded from the sky coat the gnarled speed bumps along my tongue… entomb rivers of affection in glaciers at the back of my throat…

I have a friend who once told me that I’m a hopeless romantic-

Which isn’t romantic at all.

Just hopeless.

###

Space

Baby girl got me thinking ’bout ringing it

Handle to the bell, knock on door, ringing it

Eyes rolled em.  KO senses.  In the ring, ringing it

Circle of protection around our love – ringing it

Baby girl got them eyes that take you far away

I get lost in her gaze, find myself in outer space

Spacin out on earth, and forgetting to breath

This woman is my oxygen, my anchor – my gravity

Baby girl holds me down, when I would drift off

Holds me soft, like my socks, when my feet get cut on rocks

This road I’m on, is the one less traveled

Hardly any smoothness, way too much gravel

Baby girl got me thinking about the state of my house

It could be an estate, if she would stay in my house

But I gotta clothe her naked finger, like Eve in the garden

So I wrap a diamond in a rhyme, big enough to put my heart in

 

 

 

**

~The Wordsmith