Tag Archives: love

Bookish

I grew up in novellas and thick tomes,

Seeing sunlight filtered through dust particles dancing in the air,

Springing from the pages that held my very essence.

I was well-traveled through countries and eras

Through countryside with wildflower-air

And the musty scents of a busy city,

Accustomed to all sorts of gentlemen and ladies.

I don’t consider myself a romantic;

Fancy of whims belongs to ink and paper,

And I am much too grown up for such trivial things as love.

It was never something solid,

Never tangible unless I held the book containing it in my hands.

Love was just a pretty word used by desperate people. 

But I thought of love then

As I pressed carnation petals between the pages of a Jane Austin book,

Or hid roses in the folds of Oscar Wilde.

I dreamt of love as I read of things I’d never truly understood,

Like an actor reading lines of Shakespeare without comprehension,

Love fell short of its mark.

I don’t consider myself a romantic

I consider myself tragic,

A quality which spills like an over full cup of tea,

Staining itself onto the pages of my books.

I speak of myself through poetry and prose,

But never in a way that can candidly be made sense of.

My love has never been a person, 

But  personified in the ideas I fill my pretty head with, 

Making ladies swoon and gentlemen shake with passionate fury.

My love is in my elegance, 

My eloquence,

And my erudition,

Of which I owe all to the words of dead poets.

Being tragic I prefer being woefully misunderstood, 

Kept as mysterious as the death of Edgar Poe

And maintaining an air of troubled youth.

Maps

I was never interested in cartography

Until I met you

Now I long to map the planes of your shoulders, 

The breadth of you back,

The mountain range of your spine.

I wish to plot points on your skin

Like a map,

Showing all the places I have yet to explore,

Strung together with veins of red threads

The destinations of my crimes of passion.

New

I’d forgotten what it feels like to fall

Not in desperate frenzies of love

And neither fits of passionate love-making,

I’ve never known the necessity of another person

Still it is foreign to me.

I had grown accustomed to complacency

To the patterns of those I knew –

Had known my whole life –

That to learn someone anew

Was an entirely novel idea.

HER

I wake in the morning

To tangled sheets and sunlight,

Chasing the feeling of her skin

Trying to drench myself in her perfume

The smell of it fading from the pillow

Where the night before she had laid herself

Bare

Long waves framing her beautiful face

And I am dizzy from remembrance

Of her in naked glory.

My knees bruised from hitting the ground

To worship at her feet

Her breasts and supple skin

Alabaster

flushed with rosy passion,

Purple and red love marks I wish for all to see

In undeniable proof that I beheld her once

But like the feeling of a fading dream

She eludes me while all the while

Teasing my imagination with delicious agony.

Fallout

We scramble to pick up pieces in the aftermath

Fragments of love and friendship,

Shattered

Into shards of loneliness and blame

Sharp enough to cut our fingers,

Open blooming arteries,

Or saw through bone.

But we hold our own pieces,

Careful not to wound one another

Even though we gave each other the tools.

For now, that decision is enough to live with

And slowly we will rebuild

Me, my lofty castle walls

And you, your forest full of dreams.

Cycle of (Un)love

Love starts with drops of honey-nectar,

Spilling from heated cheeks

To feed the butterflies

Fluttering inside my chest.

Slowly, nectar turns to morning mist,

Beat into hurricanes by butterfly wings

Swirling, twirling, a nauseating dance

Settling inside my belly.

Mist begins to morph into an icy wind,

Blown into my nervous system

Fibers brittle to the point of breaking

Freezing blood and bone marrow.

Ice melts into briny rivers

Running down your cheeks and

Dripping down to drown the butterflies

That once fluttered in my chest.

Ethereal Lover

You look so tantalizing

With stars sprinkled like glitter in your hair

Am I allowed

To lick the colours from your lips,

To taste the galaxies inside of you?

 

I long to hear

The hymn of your pulse,

history coursing through your veins

And to count the constellations twinkling

Behind your eyes.

 

I could melt

into the sunlight of your arms,

Your ancient fire blistering my skin

Bruising my fingers to the bone

For fear of letting you go.

Sanguine Soul

I am made of bullets; shrapnel and biting metal

Teeth dripping lead and lips bleeding red

Your lips are soft honey speaking gentleness,

Gossamer and silk-skinned being.

I tear down citadels; built for beauty and war

Thrones erected of bones and shattered hearts

You felled my fortress, breaking brick and stone

with the most tender of caresses.

My palms crush stars to powder; sand in clenched hands

Fists bathed in violet and blue fire

Your fluttering eyelashes a gale, cooling my fingers

And turning molten star-dust to gold.