heartache’s but
a drifter
come to rest atop
the stump,
and
healing is
a warm embrace
born out of
self love.
abstract
i fall
into her tune
when i should really
craft my
own
to regale her
deep into the night,
for each
and every time
she’s shared
of hers
to spare me
mine.
life on
a sunny day..
differs little from skies
speckled greyer,
i’m paying the
meter–
hanging from
feeder
in want
of a bird song.
much like
a shooting star,
your flash too far
for me to
see,
scarcely notice you
from bare
land,
but can you
wave to
me?
good vibes roll in
on high
tide,
watch as beach bathers
run inside,
to avoid crashing
moisture,
engulfed
by the waves
we’ll drown in
pleasure.
don’t call yourself
sunshine
in the middle of
the night–
even though
your smile
keeps our bedroom
plenty bright.
i hold your photograph
too far from
eyes
to make out our
expressions,
then paint on my own,
from a healthy
distance
to see us smile
again.
dragging fingers
over strings
hoping something
tickles
where i’m
numb,
while humming notes
all wrong
to hear new
compositions come.
this sorrow’s but
the feather
over my eyes
catching a
breeze–
the dust kicked up
by wind
gusts
causing cathartic
sneeze.
relief sheens in
the dew
of a rose
leaf,
unpicked and left
whole
to bask alone in
morning
glow.
hands in the garden 
You must be logged in to post a comment.