You stuck to my fingers. I pushed you through cracks, under locked doors. I hid you behind the top left post of my bed. I prayed that I could ignore you and build a home of my own; Fill it with children that were not mine and love tangible enough to boast of.
I made you into a metaphor, A word. I left you by my night-stand, Arose and fell to the sight of your name. I wrote you on the palm of my hand, Awoke with you upon my cheek.
You were used, my love, kept my heart from roaming far from His home. He has sweet melodies to woo me, the warmth of a families' love to soothe my spirit. I held you for my own heart's sake, When it is asked of me I will leave you for His.
This is a collection of poems that I have written in the last few years... I took a break from writing but recently realized just how much I have missed it .
You have not made me melt.
Your contrivance shook me.
My feet fell clumsily on what you had for me.
I relish each laugh line;
Each hair turned a wiry gray.
I know they bring me closer to you.
The birds have stepped on your eyes,
They have left their mark.
Your words are hard to come by.
Your tongue not as restless as mine.
Your teeth a wise and stalwart cage.
Your broken hands made me fall in love with you.
Your name, answers my prayers.
I have not been frightened by the crippling of your hands I long to place my lips to your fractured places, Where I can taste of Him. We have not been left unscathed. No burden can be cared for alone. What has been kept from me? I long to pour out. Letters of hopeful redemption, Sent from a soul who bore mine. They bear my name twice. What has been kept from me, I long to pour out.
I have lamented over the bitterness of my mouth. Words clung to my cheeks Chewed and spat out of the corners of my lips. Your hand made space for my thoughts You parted the air with your mouth For my words, but did not share your own. Your eyes carry the weight of your heart They know no rest but that of their maker, A testimony of your soul. The intimacy of friendship has not been lost, To know a soul like none other. The gathering of heartache, The tumbling of stone. Many a wilting flower has been kept on my windowsill.
I fell in love with a painting of your face, With the spelling of your name. I sketched of the date of your death as I imagined the pitch of your voice, The tonality of your introductions I reached out my hand to touch your bearded cheek, To place my thumb upon your weak chin. I read about you before I saw your face. your words came out nervously, you never wore socks with your dress shoes. I read the novels you asked me to, I fell in love with the songs you played for me, And then I fell in love with you. I memorized the slouch of your shoulders before I knew your name. I fell in love with the shape of your hands, the length of your nose. When I sought after you I found nothing, Nothing but a word, a look, a gesture with no meaning. I wanted to carry you home, To hold you together with my hands. I fell out of love with the pain you carried, And loved the man who needed to bear it. I grew fond of your time and I sang faintly in order to hear you. I fell in love with your sweet severity, With your reached out hand. I did not hand you my heart and you did not ask for it. You grew too old for me and I too wise to ignore this. I waited for someone to take your hand and did not find someone to take mine
Introspections shared, should it be
Should our senses be deprived, given one thing to mull over
Should the bitterness of your cups be compared
Should my life be mapped out on my temples,
Or scrawled out across my back.
Should road maps be laid out over my skin,
Suggesting the placement of my veins.
Should you be warned as to their placement,
Would it not be your responsibility if one should be nicked in our dealings?
Should I be so plain with you,
If I would have been asked for my hand, I would have gladly taken yours.
