Sonnet for a DreamerThese I wish I didn’t know about you; Your gentle fingers and free-falling grace Treading clouds, not air, ebbing laughs that glaze ‘Cross my silver-glass heart, paint the sky blue Blue blue till I stop and stare and see no clue But you, you…you. I can never encase Your paper-thin butterfly smile, your gaze Of emerald green shimmering through dew.Sonnet for a Dreamer
But, darling, though you run free like the breeze; Like stones skipped across river bearing dreams Love lingers on me more than one believes
In your grace I see your faith; your bliss Mine to emanate
Empty GlassesShe used to yell at him Those brittle glass-green cups tarnished with dust-- all over the kitchen; all over the bed. Why, he even had the audacity to mar the sparkling silver-white of the bathroom!Empty Glasses
He remains sitting, wooden Voices barely scratching at the surface Until the day his feet became birch rods that pierced through the cups with relish
Glass and porcelain splintered through the house Shards strewn into an escape route His soles were barely cut While she sat, her eyes agape bleeding her insides out without a single crimson th
Following YouFollowing you against the stars threading our path through the milky way of emptied promises and expired dreams.Following You
And to the sky evanescent in its pride lifting hearts that fly higher than Icarus who fell.
Following you away from my life to the sunlit horizons of our time.
Always following you never catching
up.
What is Reciprocation?Can you hear me? Humming softly under my breath in the still of the night, grinding my teeth habitually all hours of the day, soft whispers and sighs escaping beteween my parted lips. Spelling out your name, my name, our names, letter by letter, word by word. I sing for you at the break of dawn, climbing out onto the eaves of the rooftop, and I stand tall above the world because this song is for you.What is Reciprocation?
Can you hear me, can you hear my voice carrying softly, proudly, across this world?
Can you see me? Hiding in the secret corners, just within the periphery of your vision, wishing, waiting and watching. Not too close (be
compulsive liar.once i asked you your favourite colour, and you said, "the brown of your eyes," so i put in one green contact and told everyone that icompulsive liar.
came out of the womb as a factory defect, half-priced, damaged goods.
-
sometimes i am from canada and sometimes i am from england and sometimes i am from spain.
i've carefully tempered my accents and plotted out my stories with
yellow and purple coloured pencils
on index cards. my origin changes
like the seasons.
"why do you lie to everyone?" you ask.
"why
colour blind.She saw him at the park once. He was the colour of dirt; with bird eyes and white, mapped palms. Her little forehead lined as she felt the bile force its way up until her saliva was acid. She counted her toes and bit the inside of her cheek, should she run? Are they fast runners? She figured this one must be if he kept himself out of jail. The dark man flashed a mouthful of pebbles and held out his hand- which would have swallowed hers.colour blind.
'Don't touch me.'
Her hands were all knuckles and her baby eyes tore into his. He faltered and stepped away, a half mouthed sorry. He looked upset, a grin spread like fire between he
InkJon couldn’t speak, and when he'd run out of paper he'd leave notes on me. So I’d wake up in the morning with —Be back at eight, on my arms or —Meet me for dinner? on my legs and walk around the rest of the day with the ink scorching into my skin, until I fell asleep with his compliments (—Your eyes look beautiful tonight, —I like your dress, —Your hair’s so soft, —Your neck smells good) resting in between my fingers.Ink
I could relive conversations from weeks ago: at work I’d peer closely at my collarbones to find the traces of a joke that I’d laughed at two nights previously;
