whispers carry: good morning.
She only knew love deep and lonesome,
the way the moon craves the sun,
waiting for how she breaks, spilling open
in that slow, sweet infinity
of warm, swollen sunday morning
full of unforgettable.
rushing through love everywhere;
the way water trails in silken
grey ribbons, she smoothed over rocks,
understanding how gently the creek
caressed its fallen
branches, carrying them down
to their next destination in silent,
There was no need for explanation
in the veined simplicity of nature,
that sang inside of her in ways
she needn’t name out loud,
but when it came to humans —
who made little sense but tripped
over their senses, she’d thrown herself
over that waterfall too many times,
her threshold-shattered bones
far down below.
In ways she couldn’t fathom -
nor did she ever wish to,
how they hurt one another, in games of
tossed hearts wrapped tightly
in unyielding plastic tombs,
devoid of breath, laden with skulls.
never to be unheard,
out of soulless windows —
especially, and always
the ones they claim to love most,
wrapped in that star-soaked cloak
of perpetual, maiden vulnerability.
Torture of a final closed door,
slammed too soon on trembling hand
that was once the touch of virtue,
now faced with sober horrors
of being stuck in the same hallway,
circling the same doors,
offering the same treatment.
crushed, palm retracts
under heel of her favorite vase where
throbbing enflames a bright, fierce,
unwanted red version of now,
tingles at the back of her throat
with that ache, sore —
Desperate for the dangling,
left behind words
just out of reach,
for what was.
sighs release: goodnight.