Simply Lived: Selected Poems (4)

December 24, 2019

The Sky is My Spouse


Take me into your arms, 

My darling,

And hold on tight.

The clouds are floating in 

Quickly with the darkness of the night.

Hold me, darling,

And don’t let go.

I want to see just you,

Just blue,

As the wind begins to blow.

Wrap me, darling, in the warmth of the sun

And the forever you hold

Despite all the raindrops turned tears,

Despite the shivers from the cold.

Capture me, darling,

In all your beauty

As the sun begins to set

The colours look like music

And the cold turns to gold I could graze with my fingertips

The way I graze your lips – call me sun-kissed

I’m in love with you 

My sky, my high

I’m in love,

And these are all the reasons why.


Magic on Your Lips


You have magic on your lips

Shiny and undeserving 

You have magic on your lips 

Dark magic,

Sick and stomach churning

Suffocating me, turning me blue

The stars grace your mouth 

Like I am the fool–


Your words hold power

Like they’re a despot 

Clutching to each knotted syllable like they’re desperate

Your magic leaves me tempted, restless, skeptic 

It leaves me breathless–


I see planets stuck in the corners of your mouth

And in the blue of your eyes

I look at you and see my demise 

It’s magic in the way it all collides,

A meteor shower of truths and lies –


I feel the sun and the moon 

Beaming on me as I look at you

The feeling is anything but new,

Floating in the emptiness of your universe

Wondering why you’re so cruel,

Why I love swimming in the darkness,

What it is about you


You have magic on your lips

I’ll say it now like I said it then

I fall into your tricks 

Over and over again. 


What good?


What good does it do 

The ink sliding through,

What truth does it bring and to who?

You already know the words–do you have to read them too?

It makes you feel better, huh?

Delusional and with what proof,

As you keep writing of your woes

like they’re brand fucking new –

Paper fills with blue 

Scribbles and emotions misconstrued,

Write until you have no more room 

To feel–

No more ruin to deal,

No more tune to sway to.

Soon we can simply assume 

You’ve been consumed 

By that pool of lackluster words 

And unspoken concern 

To which you will never learn,

You have emptied out your soul into a notebook,

And paper can burn.

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