the now silent isle of your hip bones
have craved the night into a half-moon
tangled in the curling flame on your nightstand
the dust of stars slumber on your belly
glittering reminders of a slowing heaving sky
that sighed as the shadow of loneliness was eased out
by soft-spoken fingers
Would you finish a puzzle if the picture wasn’t on the box but you already knew what it was? Hmm… maybe- depending on time- or if it was picture that we actually wanted to see.
Maybe not all at once, but piece by piece- it could all come together.
We all know a version of ourselves that would gather all the pieces back into the box and put it away forever. Knowing full well that puzzle…
A shadow is a friend you might forget is there. When the light comes and it appears… Don’t you wonder if it’s been there the whole time? Sharing the dark times as well as the light ?
Each second I hear a heart steady beating as mine. A constant rhythm embracing it’s own time. The blood in our veins thickens with age. Greater the effort with the increasing pain. Time seems to slow and the hourglass runs thin. Our grains will cease to flow but time never will. Limitless before the beginning, endless beyond the end. We’re on borrowed time, you may savor it, but it will always be…
If think of my days with you they begin in the Spring. We drove into the truest of skies blue and I felt fate had thrown me it’s golden string. The doves in heat envied us as the desire between us grew. An adventure of passion and adoration new. To the Summer days when the wind raised the dust in the grass and our sweat created a scandalous haze seen by everyone but felt by none but us. Till…
I do not envy trees in Autumn As the seasons change so do their colours. tragically falling from their limbs they stand naked in the cold. Winter does not discriminate between the young and the old. My colour is not a tragedy. This cold world cannot make my skin fall. I will glow in the sun and I will stand tall as my people have done before. I am as large and in charge as the lands where human…
Pablo Neruda July 12, 1904- 23 September 1973 If You Forget Me I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail…
