Month: November 2015

Don’t Follow

I told myself not to follow those eyes. Those eyes that convince you you can walk out of quicksand. Those eyes that cradle the moon as if the stars belong within its smoky orbs; they’ll trap you just as easily as they trapped the sky.

I told myself not to follow those lips. Those lips that curl slightly at the corners, making you believe you’re in on some private joke. Those lips that curve like chirography in love letters never sent. Those lying lips that won’t part when you need them to the most.

I told myself not to follow those feet. Those feet that stomp to the rhythm, ask you to come dance. Those feet that made no sound when they came, made no sound when they left. Those running feet that won’t come back, no matter how hard you tap.

I told myself not to follow those eyes. Not to follow those lips. Those feet.

Oh but I did.

I did.

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Emerald

Notes dance up from the creek, gurgling over sunken pebbles. Leaves shiver with pleasure under the soft rain of morning light. Lilac petals swirl together under a flutter of newfound wings, a pool of milky tears, pastel memories. Time does not exist within this emerald realm, this emerald dream. Constellations dangle from branches, feet sparkling, eyes twinkling. Swinging, swinging. Mossy roots cradle the midnight moon in a promise, thawing the broken crescent. Luminescent, neon, shrouded in linen mist, the midnight moon pulsed hazily. I’ve given all my love to you.

Webs spun with honey, rubies and sapphires in the mud. A handful of garlic cloves, a handful of poetry. No breath, no beat, no pain beneath these sheets. Ghosts do not haunt this emerald realm, this emerald dream. No pockets for my hands, no pockets for my hope. Floating, floating, take with you my weight. Flutes hide behind chocolate bark, waiting for velvet lips. My music is not enough. I’ve given all my love to you.

Lightning sleeps beneath rocks, heating the ground, disastrous in its beauty. Calligraphy drifts, thick and creamy, waiting for unspoken words. A trapeze dress made from a thousand dusty moths hangs upside down, nebulous. Humming, humming. Stitches do not hold together this emerald realm, this emerald dream. There is no fodder for emptiness. I’ve given all my love to you.

There are no bones, this emerald realm.

There is no fire, this emerald dream.

There is no you.