waiting

patience is virtue,'tis wholesome and attractive,we lovers waiting.but I! am not a soft doll,to simply wait, contented.

Instagram Posts

Something about loving you,Makes me hate something about myself,And how I wish this didn't sound likeA teenager's Instagram post.

(Belated) Birthday Wishes

It's not that I'd forgotten it, Nor ignored what day it is, The words just failed to form aloud, Made mute by my cowardice. What do we do with these wishes, When they fail to come to true, Are they abandoned in dark holes, Or trashed as broken things do? Maybe I can't fathom a …

Disrobing

After the party,Our exhausted bodies sprawl,Through the foyer doors,Slinking to the living room,Opulent, pristine,(Because nothing lives in there)My red-wine breath fogs,While your dark dress falls,Pale, moonlit skin, bared like knives,So soft and so cruel,Cuts into my blurry mind,Your wrothful embrace,Kissing, clinging, poisoned lips,Our lust fills our hate,Nothing else can satiate,Spent blood, exhausted,A push and pull, …

Withering Gold

Elegant bands twist,Relationships golden-hued,Bonds so intricate,The faintest marring,Results in tragic collapse,Our perfect circle,Now but ashes in the wind.

Neglected Correspondence

An old box of notes,Our loving correspondence,Yellowed with neglect,The words now illegible,Yet your perfume clings to them.

A Reminder

I wish I forgave you your faults,And perhaps been more aware of mine,But I'm a coward,And left you behind,So this poem has no purpose,Just a reminder that I fucked up,And the fault was entirely mine.

Not a poem

This is no poem,It's simply an idle thought:I think that I still miss you.

Discarded Tinsel

It's the winter cold,That cuts the most,Reminding me of old,Of efforts like ghosts,Gone like my breath,Caught upon this chill,Fluttering to its death,Like such discarded tinsel. Once lustrous, boldly gleaming,Now faded beyond glory,Having lost all meaning. Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Tinsel” as part of their Quadrille Series #142. Always a pleasure …

Such cold roots

I buried myself in verdant leaves,Which grew damp in crimson dreams,And with the taste of winter on the breeze,I find comfort in these faint memories,Lost now in deep roots of ancient ash trees.