The ways in which you hold my love aloft
The ways in which you hold my love aloft
are more profuse than petals on a day.
For all the time against your gentle soft,
effusive breath escapes the time I lay
against your faulty chest and speckled skin
and regard the choral of your passion -
its waltz athwart your half-moon tilted grin,
a wondrous vision I could ne'er fathom.
Thou art lovely, with penchant towards wit,
knowledge, a caring heart, and blessed song
more radiant than e'er composed, befit
you and only you to whom I belong.
Everyday I find another feature
to praise dearest love in rhymed meter.
How am I
Without words
for fear of failure
Or misprint
To show you that I care
Would it be the softness
Of my bare neck
Laid upon your chest
A familiar touch
To the bottom lip
A strong glance
A long night shared
In silence
As we lay gasping in fear
Staring blankly
Into dark pasts
And even darker truths
Maybe in laughter
Or drink
Either way I pave the way
To be made a fool
For in the end
All lovers are
Maybe this will be different
A fire trail of passion
A pulling need
How am I without words
Able to communicate
Gently with someone
As amazing as you
Putting them away
They covered the serene, plastic faces with tissue paper, placed the cardboard lid on top, and slipped the box under the bed.
"There, Darling," she patted her daughter on the head, "we put them away."
But the girl knew they hadn't put the dolls away; they'd murdered them.
Wrapped in tissue paper, Sophie with the chipped eye, couldn't jump off the bed.
Closed-up in the box, Red with the yarn hair, couldn't clap her hands.
Shoved under the bed, Max with the pretty plaid shorts, would never slide down the stair rail again.
That night the girl listened for her dolls. If they made a sound, if they rustled or whimpered, she would rescue them. But there was only silence in her room, because the dolls were dead. She laid in the dark, crying for them.