I’m not sure what to say about these.

Both about two different people…two different souls. And I’m always in wonder at how my heart can hold so much, and how much it is constantly asked to let go of. And how defiantly (and dumbly) it doesn’t. I guess that’s why poetry exists, n’est-ce pas? To have a convenient shelf to set our hearts on when we can’t bear to walk around with their contents sloshing unevenly in our chests? Anyway. Here’s poetry.

tender ache

weren't you just
the subtle pine rising
from penitent footfalls
along quiet trails

weren't you just 
the romantic glide
of a train across forested peaks
the anticipation of journeys
towards something better

weren't you just
the late summer glow 
of sun kissed honey
dripping into the waiting cup
of succulent apricot flesh

weren't you just...

weren't you just

the hard turn left
that slammed 
my heart's momentum
into a concrete pylon

weren't you just 
the biting words
tearing away at 
delicate seams
of newly grown flesh

weren't you just 
the coldness 
of an unexpected glacier
cleaving through my underbelly
sinking me into the dark

weren't you just

weren't you just

the tender ache 
that would not heal

living respite

You would think,
that laughter among friends
would dull the incessant ache
of missing you

but somehow 
in any joy
I miss you more

daydreaming, apart from crowds,
that you sit across my table
eyes crinkling with the absurd
infectiousness of silly mirth
like bird wings in my heart
and shoulder shrugs of
isn't this life terrible?
beautifully terrible?
but when your eyes meet mine
it feels
 
only beautiful

knowing you exist
is like a breath added 
to the dying embers 
of hope

you're still the only thing that helps me sleep

I imagine you slide into bed beside me
curl warm length into my cold lonely
chin tucked into my neck, 
arms like blankets
hold me close
and push out the rest

I'm so glad to finally be here
you say

like the day was long without me

I'm so glad.