Poetry

Right now
Not when I wrote this
But when you’re hearing this
When you’re feeling this
My words tunnel into you
Pulling out gems
Of pain
Of past
Exposing your bones
I don’t stop
I break into them
Sucking on your marrow
It hurts
It’s the pain you’ve been waiting for
You flinch and ask for more
I gnaw and gnaw
Until we’re both bare and raw
I look into your eyes when we finish
That immovable moment
I want to stack them
So we can jump off
So we can let go
I crawl up inside you to fill the space
To help polish the pearl your holding onto
That pearl you’ve made from your filtered world
You’re waiting for the right time
The right opening
To open up
To give that shiny thing to the right one
Spit it out
Put it on
Take it with you
Make room for more
The future is unknown
But the heart is now

My hands fall into your orbit
They dock meticulously at your waist
Thumbs sink into your belly button
They anchor in as my other fingers set sail

The pinkies manufacture goosebumps from the back of your neck
The middles connect your freckles drawing constellations
The rings read braille off of your lips
The indexes do switchbacks to climb your breasts

I choreograph the tide of my movements
I conduct an orchestra to the beat of your breath
I finger-paint tattoos of friction
I raise the dead with hairs on end, reaching out from the soil of your skin

We are now pulled apart
But we are magnetized
The hands of time will continue to dance

Against the windowsill
Light bent through you
From blood red to blood blue
They danced through your fingertips
And slid down your hair
They sang off your lips
And swam across your eyes

My periphery was monochrome
Out of focus, deaf and still
Time seem to split
Moving fast moving slow
Like a slow motion time-lapse
I was Neo in full flow

It was an emotional black hole
And everything had joined in
The fog, the misfits and stop lights
All playing in stereo

In our fading shadow
It was written on hilltops
Composed in nostalgia
Orchestrated between stars
And performed for memory
Like a quilt made of quilts
A world in each breath

There is only note to sing
One smell to remember
And one color to see
It is beauty
And the beauty is in me

Before it’s even struck…you know what the sound of a match makes when it runs along the grooved edge of its box. “Hear it?”
And the colors the chemicals create when they ignite. “See it?”
You know nothing of each other…but get that same feeling.
Like that box of matches were shaking in your stomach.
You collide.

The fire could be seen flickering in their eyes.
In love.
So in love they were in love with being in love.
But if they held that match upright…the fire would go out.
It could not live off the charred past.
For it to last it would need to be turned upside down…burning the hands that held it.
But if they balanced it right…they could at least burn for as long as possible.

Working its way down the rectangular piece of wood,…the flame would go in…and out…until it reached the tips of their fingers…where they held it so delicately.
They released their fingers…and the used matchstick spun to the ground,…breaking apart before even hitting the floor.

It was dark.

But no light was needed to smell the smoke.
They take a deep breath.

(Inhale)

Breathing in what’s left of each other.