The seeds that you planted over my grave
many many years ago, have now started to bloom-
small fireflies that you promised, now slowly coming to life in the night.
And i’m left in a pause. A small eclipse of darkness, or is it just evening again?
i can’t seem to remember and i can’t seem to forget.
The coffee in my blue mug is cold and i rummage around for some tea-
Something to comfort my soul.
All those years ago, you stumbled upon me. The rock that i had thrown onto the path,
it collided with your world somehow, and i don’t even know which rock it was.
i had thrown so many back then-
had to race to get them all out of my house. Stones that would eventually turn against me
the nights that all too often fought back against me.
Turns out, it could have been me that was my own worst enemy-
but i never stuck around to finish that story.
And this is the realest thing that i’ve ever meant- the siren call of my soul.
I wish i would have paused more often to hear it, because even back then- moons ago-
even through the time and distance and continent that separated us-
you saw me.
And i have inboxes and pages full of poetry to show me, but there has never been any doubt.
These fireflies blooming right now are little pieces of sparkle,
little stones that remind me that i am a poet. Born and condemned-
and maybe it’s time to stop running away-
maybe it’s time to throw off these careerist shoes and pause to remember that small girl
in the basement apartment who didn’t know much-
but knew she had to write. And like an addiction, she would fill up her coffee pot,
and unleash onto pages, the blood of the stones around her. And like an unexpected grave,
you stumbled upon me and found me. Spent hours talking and listening
and doing the unimaginable- reaching across a country to touch me, so very tenderly.
so lovingly.
i tucked you away into my aorta- and the left ventricle of my heart. Your love became me.
You became a part of my blood stream, and even though i grew and learned to stop throwing stones-
i never grew away from your love.
Every night i have been attending our garden on the moon,
picking small moments like flowers
and knowing with every cell of my being that you are with me. And i am there with you.
time and depth and life and graves are not anything relevant in my home. All you’ll find is a small cat,
my dog. And my love for you.
There is nothing and then there is forever. I throw a stone tonight into the small pond of my soul-
i want to see the ripples as they reach out to you-
reaching you and fading away into the evening breeze.
Can you feel me blackwater star? I am curling up on your lap like a small soft kitten,
waiting for you patiently, and loving you without limit.

you slip through the shadows night hawk
fading from black to vibrant
and peaking when the dawn rises
your energy amazes me
itches at my skin
with no indication of disease
or happiness.

you won't follow me night owl
you've created a harmony
within yourself
and i find
i'm a bit envious of that
do you hear the calls
of the morning sun?
like a puppy, i'm enthusiastic for the thought of love
and my bounding up the stairs
gives you warning of my approach.

do you sit still nightingale
or are your eyes frantically
searching for the next exit?

i woke this morning
with a tiny seed of disappointment
sitting on my shoulder-
walking into the kitchen
it edged its way into my soul
and now waits for the rain.

i wonder if this means
that i'm the one who wanted it-
i'm the one that concentrated on
planting the plant
that would grow
to destroy me-
take out my own rooted structure.

i woke this morning
to your kind words
and your absence.
there's a sense of hollowness in that
a moment of disappointment
because the anticipation
faded out-
left its keys
but no note to let me know
how it got out.

there's no promise in your eyes
no hope for the future of buildings
and bridges
just a sly wink
and an ever calculated expression.

i want you more than that-
more than the rain
that falls on this city
and leaves me wet
but not broken hearted.

your brushstrokes
aren't myne-
i don't paint that way-
my words don't fall carefully-
don't tip toe-
don't rush to meet you and run over you
like water-
my well is dry-
overflowing-
and never predicatable.
i don't complete my sentences like you-
instead i struggle
with the dark comets inside-
as they rush
to get on some sort of pattern-
so that the lords of this world
can map them-
can tell the people
that they aren't omens-
aren't warnings against this gurl.
silliness
is what theses shoes hold
and you can't bear my closets-
there are fabrics tumbling out of this mouth
and i don't begin to fold them-
i can't offer you this heart
because it only beats for the blood

and somehow i made it out alive-
am still living with this organ
that keeps demanding
that it would be better off left.

these fingers itch for paint
and you can't teach me that-
so i look up to you
and motion to the stars-
carry them down from the moon's gardens
and lay them at your feet-

i don't have bitterness bound in my posture
but you can't begin to unravel
what i won't let go.

give me moments.
to tie up this hair-
let down my wings
and just enjoy the night.

-a.

i don't want to be this woman-
this whore that is okay
with second best-
moments of your time-
positions without the release.
i enjoyed the nights-
but my mind deserves the day. the light
of our laughter has indeed reached me
but i wonder if that's how you'll return.
i wonder what cards you hold
when you tell me that you show them all.
i'm not stranger to the game
and you've sparked my interest-
i just wonder if you know how to end
and finish and continue playing all the same.

you entered me
and i can't imagine a world
without your smile.
we were allowed only a few moments
and the possibility of more-
if i was able to bend myself into those positions
and boxes.
time's passed and i wonder if i'll still have the energy
to fall for you. to replace parts of my flesh
with the longing of you.
healthy and unbalanced.
i cannot think of you without a smile-
even when the door's shutting behind me-
even when my purse is hidden
by the doorframe.
the absence is something
that i'm learning
and the lust is something i'm sure i could forget.

i feel the butterflies-
the edges of the world
as i push beyond my own edges.
and it's as exciting as it is nervous-
i'm making decisions
i'd normally talk myself out of.
and i'm taking life for granted
as if it will always be this free
and bendy.
not knowing that time causes us to be stiff
and as lusts passes away
the hardness remains
and creates us sour. uninterested.
i wonder when this stone is turned
if you'll think of me with fond memories
or if you'll continue to bend life
to the reality of us.
the excitement of our own blood
pursuing our hearts. pursuing the timing
that will most certainly never be right.
i wonder if the end will be enough of a push
for me to really take flight
and leave this self
that's too fond of pretenses
and a poker hand that lays on the table-
i wonder if this pushing will become
a habit
that isn't as hard to break
as your love.