My Broken Bones

My broken bones are not

so conventional in representation.

You probably lack knowledge of the treatment

or, maybe you are “perfect” in that way as well, I without amazement.

They poke my insides

trying to get out to see you.

Like my words that are scared

and retreat from your glare.

They used to be straight and orderly

until your touch instantly shattered them.

The pain was supposed to be there, yet

the break, was an eerie relief from fret.

Only set them right again

if you are willing to stay here.

If you leave, the fractures will be

the sole reminders of you for me.

My Pencil.

Take my pencil, but not away from

the sheath of my hand.  Instead summon

its attention and guide both with your

hand toward the correct path.

It is bleeding black and running franticly

across the page wondering where pretty

pen went.  Because his life simply can’t go

on without his love.

You are my pencil because you always

seem to be able to erase my mistakes of the days.

However, I leak ink at night due to my

replacement by another.

Be my artist, take my hand in doing so.

I feel that when I am around you I can let my ink flow,

together, we can complete whatever task that we

set out to do.  And make a Masterpiece out of life.

Your Hands

Tough as leather, yet

soft against mine.

Intriguingly delicate,

as ours intertwine.

Shadows carefully fill

the tiny crevices.

I know you will

let me trace the edges.

The dirt of the day

shows determination.

Swirls play in a way

on top of the outer stratum.

My frigidity is what

their warmness calms.

You can put words together, but

I just want the embracing of our palms.

Dance.

Dance with me, because you can

and because I can.  Forget the world,

for you can always return.  The land

and I are your oyster, considering that you are my pearl.

Take my hand in yours as if you mean it.

Do not be afraid to squeeze what you

would think is too hard.  Your grip is the only fit

that keeps my fingers wanting to continue true.

Pull me close, as near as possible

so that I might forget my necessary departure.

Hold me as if I were your anchor responsible

for allowing you to stay near shore.

You have to go back to her, I know that, I do.

Have mercy, in giving me just a short

amount of your time.  Give me a cue

when it is time to bring me back to my realistic court.

Melodic

Your voice is melodic,

the words, they frolic.

Chasing the mundane reality

away from me, if only rarely it be.

Low and soothing to my ears,

sort of like a bee, except there’s no fear.

With a touch of Southern drawl, but not

so thick and sugary sweet to be lacking thought.

Speak to me, forever, even if it is about what

seems to be nothing important.  Your mind is never in a rut

because your ideas constantly swim down to

your mouth from the river of intelligence, in your brain it runs through.

Like honey, it coats everything with a cloying drip,

distracting me from the real point, giving my heart a skip.

Pour it on me so that it will seep into my head right

into my eyes, so that it will cause me to see everything in your amber light.

Blue Eyes

Crystal clear like
water that laps
at my toes on a
bright summer day.

I go in to my
ankles despite
my better judgment.
You are unrelenting.

I am in far too deep
now.  There is no
going back, which you
know silently.

The sea threatens my
ability to express
feelings to anyone.
But I am happy.

The Wedding Dress

White cascading down
her, shielding her from
the rest of the world
like a gift from angels.

In a somewhat
trance-like state
she drifts down the
aisle to her other refuge.

Her train symbolizes
what and who she
has left behind to
follow the significant.

Her face remains
covered to save
beauty for the one
who lifts the veil.