Addictive Poison

You weave around me with the grace of a swordsman,
only your weapon of choice is your words.
What a lethal dance we engage in,
parrying,
striking with focused precision,
sliding that unbearable hurt between my ribs with a lovers skill.
How beautifully I fall apart before you,
as you watch in silence with glittering,
hungry eyes.

Unmapped

Like a melody that I once knew,
you sink into the buried spaces of
my mind and stain all the dull grays
a vibrant carmine.
Echoes of conversations long since past drift on a million horizons,
illusions of a mirage,
tattooing my retinas with a constellation of loss.
I weave your words from threads of
forgotten memories
and run them across my body.
But they lose their way in the
unmapped galaxies
you refused to venture near,
competing only
with the same spectacular way
I used to lose myself
at the mere thought of you.

 

Body Language

Men and women are so different. The contrast fascinates me all the time, until sometimes, it doesn’t. Like when men and women cannot read each other’s signs or body language they are giving off.

There is this little grocery store down the street from my neighborhood that I frequent because it is so convenient. Well, one of the workers there recently took a shine to me. He works behind the seafood counter and maybe he interpreted my questioning him what type of salmon was the best to buy as an interest in him, I’m not sure. Well, the next time I ran into him in the store, he asked me for a hug. Being a little taken aback and not wanting to be rude, I said sure. So we hugged. Well, that quickly escalated into him exhibiting stalkerish behavior. Every time I go into that store, even when I’m nowhere near the seafood section, he will pop up right beside me and start chatting. And now he goes in for a hug without asking me. It’s making me hesitate as to whether or not I even want to go there anymore, and I hate that because it is so convenient for me! I know the best thing for me to do is to tell him straight out that he needs to tone it down because my silent hints of avoiding that side of the store are not carrying over, but honestly, that is so much easier said than done. Ugh what to do what to do 😕

On the flip side, I tend to read way too much into something when I like a guy, especially if I’m not certain if he likes me back, and I’ve certainly lost my sh*t before in former relationships where I misread or overthought a situation. You would think that with all this information at our fingertips in this day and age, we would certainly learn how to communicate more effectively, but nope. We revert to our lizard brain when certain chemicals are triggered in the brain.

Scattered — Coffee Flavored Thoughts

Ahh..if my love for traveling and how it makes me feel can be immortalized in verse, this is it ♥️

I left bits and pieces of my heart in all of the places I have been. I close my eyes and find myself in the labyrinth of my mind. There, the sunlight glinting off of the bronze statue as you drive by, your head resting against the coolness of the window. There I am, splashing…

via Scattered — Coffee Flavored Thoughts

Death by Poetry

The words looked harmless at first, standing there dressed up (or is it down?)
in their elegant despondency. Beckoning
each passer-by with delicate wares made up of images like “palest eyes of Sunday blues” and “languid Friday.” A mere glance was all it took for their siren’s song to be unleashed. Weaving through the air, they danced in slow motion, falling, burrowing through
creases of skin and tears and “have mercy” and wreaked their way through lungs and fingertips and memories tinged in shades of coral. The human heart stood not a chance. Beating out its last, an almost-whisper echoed on the breeze—
Is this exquisite death or
excruciating
bliss?

This poem is an ode to Rachel’s poem, Sunday hues. Read it and fall hysterically in love, get your heart mangled in the process, and walk away a better person for it all.

 

 

*Photo from ArtStation by Alexey Popov

Letters To My Lover

To my love,
I will wait for you under the apple tree
in the dusk of twilight, when all the garden
will be sweet with the heady dew of evening
and the thrill of unspoken promises. There,
we will drink honeyed wine spilled
from my lips in the form of all the words I keep
in secret. They swirl inside me like new wine
flowing through my veins—
at once filling me with euphoria and a
trembling sort of heaviness. Let us frolic
in the garden, there,
like young gazelles leaping upon the hills
at the first blush of spring. Let us be
love-drunk through all the sultry hours
of the night,
for I know that all too soon,
the jealous dawn will rip you from my arms.
To my love, I will wait in breathless
anticipation for the dusk to make
its way to me once more.

Addicted

You found me when I was broken,
sharp protruding bits and
serrated edges.
Running your fingers down my
soul,
you watched, mesmerized,
as the blood pooled in the crevices
of your skin.
Attracted to the danger, you soon
became addicted
to the pain.
You loved the way the light
refracted against the
shattered glass of
my heart,
and so you endeavored
to break it again
and again.

Untamed

You glance my way and
a wild stampede of heartbeats
escapes from within the cage
of my ribs. I cannot seem
to corral my thoughts, they ride
freely upon the rushing horde—
do I hold your gaze or look away?
You laugh at something your
companion says, flashing straight
white teeth like the picket fence
around the garden in my
memories, where we picked sugar
snap peas during lazy summer
afternoons. I catch my breath
and look away, attempt to calm
the trembling of my limbs.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

A shattered heart plays the most haunting melody.
Spilling forth like jagged notes, the breathless sobs
of a lover scorned are flung into the inky night.
Caught within the flow of time, who will mourn our symphony?
Brightly lit but ever brief, we rush headlong
into oblivion. Leaving only traces of our passions
for no one but the stars to remember.

*I was inspired to capture something of what I felt when I read the title of this debut novel, “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous” by poet Ocean Vuong. I was at once transported incredibly near to the human experience, yet simultaneously as if I was viewing everything from the lens of time and space.