Wither.

How does one forget a name

It starts with remembering

Thinking of every inked page,

midnight conversation,

and captured photograph,

This is where you begin

Take a flame,

One able to fit in your moist palm

And purge the soiled sheets

With the almighty eraser

Upon cooling fragments must be tossed

Ashes given wings in the wind

To where they go, it doesn’t matter

For they are only remnants of a dream once lived.

Allow time,

The comforting mother,

To rest her hands on your weary head

Letting her fingers move the minutes

Until moments in love are lost to tomorrow.

Then, you are free.

You will meet her on a day,

That is like all of the other days

But she will approach you,

Trying to provide answer

For questions, long-forgotten.

Photosynthesis.

I see my past when I see her

There I am

A seedling

With eyes bigger than my heart

And there you are

A girl

The first girl

Who I remember

Maybe because of words exchanged,

How tasteless they were

But my mouth had yet to form truths

Only spewing what the brain spilled

From the darkness.

 

I find myself older

But not by much

Hormones and self-hatred flow in my veins

Because my skin doesn’t fit

At least that’s what they tell me

But you say nothing

And that’s all I want to hear

The pulse of a prayer

Gifted by lips in the form of laughter

Able to bring enough of me back

To believe in the black that I am cloaked in.

 

Time and space are wedges

Tools used to split us apart

Because I forgot you

For years

And you forgot me

For who knows how long

Until by chance

Flesh failed and biochemical notes enter book bags

Faulty anatomy brought you down

But lifted something up

As we waited in the sterility

Hoping to see tomorrow,

Together.

 

The day finally came

When I knew freedom

My tongue has twisted enough times to know

That truth lies in the hands

Your touch reminds me

Of moonbeams and fireflies

Ice cream and sun-showers

How infectious you are

Susceptible to your every whim and wish

Taking every penny from my pocket

And tossing it into the fountain of youth

Maybe,

If you stick around this time

I’ll be able to say what I couldn’t

The first time we must

Underneath the fluorescent lights.

 

Iris.

I’ll never forget the look in her eyes

Like that of a child

Or four toothed grandmother

Pupils full of light

Slowly illuminating hazel irises

Each retina firing

Aimed at my soul

The gaze caused my heart to tap dance

Puppeting around as strings of my fate

Found their way into your hands,

Hoping to become a real boy,

Or man

who is capable of love.

 

It was the slight curve of eyelids,

Covering just enough of your window

For me to sneak a peek

At the you

That I’ve wanted to see.

A slight double take

Eyes to lips

Lips to eyes

Shifting rapidly like revolving sirens

These optical illusions have become my reality

Forced to occupy a space of smoke and mirrors

With no hope of escaping your eternal void

But I don’t want to leave.

 

No,

Let me be the dream dust that forms in the corner

and on long nights I will whisper to your eyes

Disguise my feelings as fleeting sheep

Bouncing from cloud to cotton pillow

And when you finally close them

Allow my kiss to be the last image they see

So there will be no questions,

only truths,

That you alone will know,

When you awake in my weary eyes.

 

I would give you the world

But hands are heavy,

However,

There is a universe of love

Waiting to be discovered

By the one who is willing

To be part of your constellation

Shining in the twilight of your gaze.

 

 

Blossoming.

Untouched by human hands,

Beauty retained in innocence

Wisps of divinity seep out of the soil

And roots draw nutrients from the soft earth

How wild it looks amidst these pale daisies.

 

I tend to other flowers

But the rose does not beckon

It may never,

But the truth is

This garden may cease to exist

Without it’s presence.

Seedling.

The rose,

Should be the only flower in the garden

The first seed planted

and last to decay.

Tilled soil and buckets full of water

Wait patiently,

For the seed to sprout

But first, I must clear space

Petite.

Days go,

As they are supposed to

But time stands still

When I am away.

Are you changing?

Or maybe I observe too much

Taking note of lost details

Leaves swaying in the westward breeze

Or dew drops latched to the stem.

It’s always the little things

That time seems to take away.

Thorn.

I know.

Fragile petals,

Bony thorns,

How many nights have they tasted my blood?

Pricked fingers and carelessness

Brought me here;

Now too afraid,

to touch once more.

Pots.

Even potted plants

Will die

No matter the care

Sometimes,

The soil isn’t meant for life. 

Phototropism.

I wonder…

Did this flower reside here longer than I have known?

Answers, I pray tell never to find

For truth leads to withering leaves

But in time, all must grow and and be granted the taste of light

At least once…maybe twice, if by chance.

It is no surprise that you would rise at this time,

When the sun is beginning to shine.

Sprout.

Today the rose broke from its slumber

It didn’t talk…except when I talked

It didn’t grow…except when I grew.

It’s still there

Waiting for something,

Me?

Thirsting, but failing to wilt

Starving, yet unable to fall.

It exists, but will not be,

not yet at least.

It believes in potential, rather than the present

Seeing “what could be” versus “what is”

The leaves may grow…one day

Or petals may fall

Either way,

Spring has come, and the rose has finally awakened.