the heart hums to a different beat
tonight – no, not war drums
(well…almost always, but not tonight).
the pit in my stomach swallows any
semblance of life when the songbirds
stir to life; weighted words will never
escape a parched tongue through
a paralyzed throat. i would tell you
the urge to trace your palms has
subsided, but there’s little to
gain from blatant lies. sometimes,
i think your fingertips are brimming
with life – the way you breathe life
into empty canvases and
the way my heart flutters when
our fingers were interlocked,
is ethereal. you've taught me the
mechanisms of kindling warmth
when december carries over,
but there’s only a finite amount
of memories one can burn
before the nostalgia’s fire
is reduced to glowing embers.
all the breath in my lungs
can’t coax the fire to life
again; your name takes less
to utter into chaotic winds.
absentia is a simmering cauldron
of dying hope and wistfulness.
sometimes, i close my eyes to
recreate the feeling of anticipation
of a forehead kiss, it’s a little anchor
that keeps me tethered to reality –
This seriously took the breath right out of me. The sincerity and care in your words, the fragile memories that you are aware can't warm you forever. It is like you are trying to preserve and appreciate the memory as long as humanly possible, to get your soul through the winter, even through the night. And there is only so much reminiscing one can do without seemingly getting lost in the past, or giving up the prospect that there could be something up ahead that will have the potential to steady you.