you feel like an ocean
in my arms a tidal wave
I have been surfing on
summer since you
found me black shadowed
after trekking winter’s
long desert
waiting for you to
hyphenate me with
your time and your precious
cargo down below a
vacant heart at the time
but now is a roaring lion
ready to claim
this undiscovered body
prepared for your arrival.
not the kind you think of
when the word presents itself
there hasn’t been gifts
or flowers
or cakes
no declarations of love
I am veiled in quicksand
my ankles stolen
right from underneath me
A preacher speaking “blah, blah, blah, God” ….
and all that stuff
my dear family and friends
gathered around me
laughing
a single dove laying on
an altar
plugged into oxygen
plastic wrapped for perfection
suffocating
the caterer
with the smile of a thousand devils
reminds me to pay my bill
tonight we roast the dove
A blank sky starts out
and just like that
like embers flicking
popping
rising
from a camp fire
a Universe is on fire
holding hands
twisting fingertips
underneath precious metals
of an Earth
for the sake of intimacy
on black heels
in a month
like August
like seductive and
sweet
she is a golden pear
dangling fresh in the night air
all men have met her
at some point
she becomes bitter
after the picking
after the tasting
after familiarity increases
In the end, all that sleeps against your fresh
youth is an echo.
After the last words slide across instant
regret, the only thing that spends Saturday
mornings with you are the bones
of an old Review.
After tonight,
just remember the way your fingers interlocked
like you figured out a combination
of perfect timing
and lust.
Just remember, that’s all it was.
Here. I am black echo ash.
Resin. The aftermath.
Always, the beginning is fresh.
Sweet cream masked – naked
baby’s breath awakening
to the first day.
I close my eyes to find it.
Seven minutes –
heaven is just beneath
his collar.
One breath, we melt forever
bonded; a rush, a plunge,
a distance without measure.
Instigator. I break as quick
as silver, my tongue –
an anxious alligator.
He snakes back to a shadow.
Strike a fire, burn
his path to follow.
Catch on flames, catch the blue.
Beginnings start out hollow.
Torch the love, torch the pain
leave me with the echo.
so the world curves in and folds
over bottomless
alto-cumulus like
a second cloud
thundering over a handful
of broken hearts
I mean for you to find
out first
but it’s always my eyes
that watch storms
rolling in
swiftly from cracks in old
dreams angrily toward
nights that cradle infants
softly
strangling sleep that holds
and heals
I am tethered to heavy
weather on one of those old
Sunday’s watching my body
drift silently into you
I mean for you to taste these
memories trapped but my
heart is pyrite and I
saw it first.
It’s a white night
in a white gown,
lights are dancing in
black windowsills.
In an instant, I’m a crowd;
an infant fevering
for heavy music to sing.
My prison is cumulonimbus.
La la la la la.
The opera is inside of me.
Look inside, there’s
a phantom cradling a breeze.
I will become
a storm under white sheets.
Waiting to be swept up,
my weak field,
my broken wheat.
I see your
Tropic of Cancer
and how tumorous you can be
but I will be
better than the whiteness
that is surviving me.
At that time
I will sow the sound
of wind chimes
over lullabies.
Mozart will come sit with me
about your layers –
we won’t need them,
words don’t mean anything
after you have seen
how beautiful the whiteness
can be.
Confession from Heaven
as you can see
we have potential
although hearts burst out in tears,
locked behind bars, in chains,
against a will of their own,
we carry every blink used
to wipe away the pain,
we stand guard when the Earth
shakes underneath feet full of breath
breathe easy
we have potential
we have not lost the sunlight
of yesterday,
or the smell of a growing world
childhood kisses are fresh on our
souls
we have not passed
we are not the past
we are your honest future
waiting
for our bound hearts
to hold each other
once again.
Blue notes ready
get the fumes ready
we’re going to spread this
wild.
City streets rain down
pistol shots
whiskey shots
wake me up, I’m just a
child.
Sell me back to classical keys
the ones that leave
fire in oxygen.
Your spirit still sits
in your acoustic strings.
Baby, I could see a future of missing
your blue river running
wildly over
everything.
Don’t tempt the flames
they’re easier than Spring.
We’re going to spread this wilder
than fire.
You have gone. There is no now,
just used to;
cement packed into Earth fragments.
Ironic, it is, that solidity above the surface
is made from what lies beneath.
Think about – oh how you can’t!
I miss that.
Poor baby.
You try to kill me again,
and again,
to show me something new,
a new world inside of sleep.
Is this how it is for you?
A permanent anywhere,
where you never are, but were?
I miss that what it was
will not, and never be anything
but you and me, asleep inside of a
sleep.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 