dear strung out
operator,
might you spare
the time
to listen with your
heart on..
be my belated
valentine?
abstract
the tap of cool rain upon
my forehead
soothes all aches
from past
winters,
boarded up in
rooms half
my size
while
snow angels
formed outside.
needed to
write
what my mind
couldn’t
face,
on a day so sunken
and devoid of
grace,
thus i throw up my
hands in the
hopes you
relate
and purge
such
before my word
bubbles
deflate.
one way door
into a mind like yours
brimmed with thoughts
of wonder,
two bright eyes
cast
on windexed
glass
enticing me to
enter.
i floated over creaky
bridge
like we had in swells
of summer,
where fireflies
with star
shaped
eyes
lead us safely
to its greener side.
we huddled under
street lamps
waiting for the
storms to
pass,
grateful for each
icy flake
that settled on my
dirty face.
when winter
folds
and
spring behaves
i’ll be
at your door
but not a teardrop
before
you emerge from
grave.
“we’ll step into
stars
and dread not their
brightness,”
said shielding
our eyes
for fear we may
like it.
an enchanting song
of slumber
found me
combating its tow,
unready
for surrender
into dreams
unknown.
must have read
this passage
a hundred
times
before what you
shared
sunk
in
like sun
into unsettled lake
at first throb
of dusk.
hands in the garden 
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