Portrait of a Woman in Love

Relative Time

Whisper when you speak of change

Of new seasons and passing moons

Of brand new starts

Of shifting in hearts

Hold me close when we lie beneath stars

Burning dimmer than they had

So many nights before

The hands of time

The metronome of our hearts

My hand will stay in yours

Until the ticking stops

Nothing, my love

Can be as haunting as clocks

6 Oct. 2020

I had a dream last night
In that dream you said to me
That even when you’re happy
Even when it’s right
Even when it’s love
All things come to an end


Instead of letting go
When the morning light
Piercing through
The final moments of night
Threatened to rip us apart
I drew you closer


I held you tighter

miracle

the scent of you

warm and sultry against my collarbones

i remember how flustered

you would get at the sight of them

how your fingers, grazing slowly

along the length of them

would cause your lips to part

and your mind to spin

i had never experienced

such intimate passion

how you poured your love

into every nook and cranny

of this intricate heart

i lie in bed

finding little pieces of you here

and there

wearing you, on my collarbones

wishing the scent of you

could summon you back

from whatever alternate reality

you escaped to

where your fingers don’t trace my spine

as we fall asleep each night

where I’m filled with so much of you

and you are nowhere to be found

remain open

what was love supposed to be for you? tell me about all the preconceived ideas of love that have shaped who you thought you’d be. everything you thought love would be is nothing i have to offer. but what i have, is worth everything.

this is why you’re going to choose me.

i am youthful. my smile. my sense of imagination. my hope in the darkest of nights. i have been hurt tremendously. i still love.   and love.   and love. i love like a child. forgetting the wrongs. believing the good. forgiving.   giving.

i am soft. soft in every connotation you could imagine. my heart could not fathom impure intentions. i am a lover. lover. lover. i hated the word lover for so long because it’s often a word used to describe a person who you have sexual relations with. i need a word that means more, because my lover, i want to have relations with your soul.

i am a writer. i will write about your lips and how the fullness of them melts into the fullness of mine. how i love the way touching you,   any point of contact, feels like a submersion of me into you. i will write about the way your eyelashes look like butterflies resting on your closed eyes as you sleep. and the way they transfer to my stomach as your eyelids open to look at me. i speak in lyrics more than i do words. i write more than i will ever be able to vocalize. my mind is chaotic. words flying around in circles while i stand below trying to catch the ones that fit just right. the ones that make your eyes real enough to melt into when i read about them once again.

i am a hoarder of memories. like the way you smelled the first time we met. the feeling of sweaty palms the day you didn’t let go of my hand. or that monday in may, we devoured two pots of coffee and danced in the kitchen all morning long. my mind is a record player, constantly spinning, the sound of your laughter– your bliss. an endless soudtrack playing in the background as we snuggle into bed on cold nights. induging in the nostalgia, and one another.

maybe your ideas of love aren’t as neatly packed or clearly outlined as you believe them to be. it’s possible you’ll find what you’re looking for in someone like me. maybe remaining open to feeling, falling, living, will yield a happiness even you could not foresee.

And I, blossom

You are a ray of sunshine

And I, a flower stretching outward

to bask in your ethereal beauty

A drop of dew glistening amongst the light

You are the light

And I, a fluttering honeybee

indulging in sweet floral nectar

You are honey

The sweetener of my days

And I, with a drop of your viscous love

am in a jovial, blissful daze

 

Song of the Insomniac

Wide awake

The earth spinning within me

When the moons rises from her rest

I transform into the universe

A collection of galaxies

Behind my very own eyelids

You hold me in your gaze

And watch me glow

From so far away

Above stars

Above dreams

Above ache

You waltz with me

To the sound of my insomnia

Writer’s Paradise

Where have the words gone

My inspiration seems to be on vacation

Fine dining with barely enough time

To soak in my surroundings

Washed away to a deserted island

To a paradise

Too perfect to capture in sentences

I am speechless

When her arms are around me

I lose myself

Within her gaze

And all thoughts cease

All words languish

Blissfully unaware

And wonderfully lost

In a world where dreams

Don’t measure up to reality

And reality is really

As good as it gets

When Love Returns

Love will one day return

Better, happier, sweet

Love will say “I’m sorry”

Love will face defeat

Love will want to make changes

Lie flowers on your pain

Love has learned the art of patience

Love has changed her name

Love will ask forgiveness

And understand it may take time

Love will reach for your hand

Love will nurture your mind

Love will tell you

“I’m not perfect-

But for you, love, I’d try”

Mistakes are things we all make

But love will not tell you lies

Love will one day return

When you may have thought her extinct

Love will say your name again

And the sound will make you sing

Love will say “I’m here to stay,

and prove my love to be true”

Love will return the pieces of your heart

And stitch them back for you

Everlasting

I wrote myself

Into my favorite love story

The one I’d dreamt of reading

The one I’d feared to believe

I left little pieces of my heart

in every page

Passion laced ink

Tainted every word

With raw desire

With fearless emotion

To be read again

With hungry eyes

The ending

I was never prepared to write

As my pens ran dry

I used my blood

To write another page

To keep my spirit alive

I wrote my soul away

To preserve it

In a beautiful piece

Of literary fiction

The safest place

for my hopeless heart

There it stays

Locked away

I’m still trying to decide

Whether I’ve captured my love

Or cursed it

To live within a story

That I cannot find the words

Deep enough

Heavy enough

Or sweet enough

To conclude

 

Gestures

Her words, her actions—

equivalent to receiving a bouquet of flowers on my doorstep

every single day

 

Book Review|Fingersmith – Sarah Waters

Where to begin. 

This plot took me on a rollercoaster! A rollercoaster of confusion, pain, joy, and love; I am feeling so many things. I am in love, in awe of the storyteller that is Sarah Waters. I didn’t want this story to end. It begins with the backstory of two girls living two completely different lives. In time their stories clash in a way that neither of them knew that it would and as the reader, I experienced all of their innocence and guilt, all of their emotions and surprise, along with them. I remember time and time again while reading, feeling completely stunned by this twisted and delicious plot of romance and betrayal that kept me on the edge of my seat. I’ve read a few novels by Sarah Waters such as The Little Stranger and The Paying Guests, and I have never been disappointed by her work.

Beautiful, dark, and lovely.

Fingersmith – 10/10

Hopeless

My heart, made of fairytales and wishes, is much too pure to exist outside of books. Much too soft for the reality of this world.

All My Words are Hers

When I write for her
I write with passion
In hopes that she will feel
The weight of my heart in eve-ry
Sin-gle
Syl-la-ble
And when the words I have spilled
Touches her tongue
They’ll taste like honey
Honey that I have scavenged for
Like the perfect word to describe
the way her smile makes my heart
want to beat again
hopeful
they’ll taste like wine
the warmth of my love
will consume her
with every sip of the words
from my lips
to hers
they will taste like chocolate
like her favorite guilty pleasure
with all of the pleasure
and none of the guilt
she will indulge
in the passion of my words
because I write
for her

  • I write for you (6-26-17)

 

The Language of Hands

Give me your hands
I will trace a map of every freckle
Every scar
And every inch of skin
That only wants to know you
And I sigh
In reply to your touch
The sound of hello
An introduction
Like none before
Your hands speaking the language of love
Whispering, “enchantee..”
Making up for your lips
Too busy
Too occupied
For the pretty words
Your hands
Perfectly say.

 

Gallery Girl

(For my muse 💌)

Can I tell you a secret?
Talking to you
Feels like walking through a museum

I always leave inspired.

Coffee Thoughts.

I love you like the last sip of coffee. Never enough, I always want more. I love you like the book I keep re-reading. Finding new, little details to admire each time I come back to you. And I come back to you again, and again. I love you like my pen loves paper. Ink flowing from my heart like an ocean of feeling, like high tide during a hurricane, waves of adoration. Beauty learned to exist through your radiant example. And through your example, the stars light up my darkest nights. So, I love you like the night sky. I’m forever in anticipation. Eagerly dreaming to gaze into the ethereal glow, that I only find within your eyes. You are a dream that I don’t want to forget, so I’m eagerly writing you down. Every little detail flowing from me. Waves of adoration, each time I open my eyes. And I re-read these dreams, until my last sip of coffee, which is never enough. Wanting more of you, to get me through the day. But, I love you like the night sky. Glowing brighter than the moon just knowing, I’ll see you tonight.

hopeless romantic

She desires to get lost in the romance of dusty books, vintage albums, and pressed flowers collected by lovers of the past ⚘

The Architect

Her art is the kind that keeps me up
Throughout the night
Perplexed and overwhelmingly intrigued

The walls that she builds
They are more breathtaking than the temples
Of ancient Greece

These beautiful structures
Constructed by a goddess
With wine painted fingertips

I wonder about the treasures that lie
beneath the surface
The ones she feels that she must keep sheltered from the world

I return once again today standing before these walls
Wondering if I will ever know
What hides behind the elaborate exterior

I search for a key
Though I can’t even seem to find a lock
I scream out secret passcodes, but I don’t think anyone is listening…

OPEN SESAME?
PLEASE, LET ME IN…?

I try to climb to the top
Though I fear I’ll reach the heavens
Before I ever find my way over

She must find me silly
Or maybe even as bewildering
As I find her art

While I knock and listen for a reply
My ear pressed up close
My fingers probing frantically for even a crack

The walls that she builds
They are under-appreciated masterpieces
Too beautiful to demolish
So strong that it’d be pointless to try

But I will forever be an admirer
Of her craft