Masked...

Extra pale cream

To blend with the brush

And cover the dark sleepless spells

Even slightly. A lie.

To banish the red 

From showing the nightly pacing...

From tears...

From not knowing...

What to do with all of this.

Dark Burgundy pout

To warn...

Of unresolved wine filled fits...

Of dreams mourned...

and plans cut short...

Thick black liner

Like crows wings spread wide

Sitting on dead branches

Cawing sarcasm at hope.

Lashes painted thick

And Long...

Like Night...

The long sleepless night.

Waving from moon to stars to void.

Morning now is...

Painting daily the masquerade.

Muse...

all the words my soul birthed
and gave away to the air
the ones I never spoke out loud

the fragments of remembered dreams
I arranged in mosaics on paper
the wishes I held under my tongue
like crashing waves
the twisting tremble...

....all the poems were about you
they've always been about you

Matches...

I know your spirit...

It is flight and roaming wonder...

Mine is wild in place.

Fire at home.

This isn't a forever pair...

This matched set.

Still.

To juice for everydrop 

of white fire

And intense smoke... it begs

For as long as the kindling sparks...

Shadows...

I've looked for you
in every face I've ever met
In the words of scholars and clergy

I've searched for your voice
in the pages of classic hymns
In the aisles of vintage record stores

I glimpsed you over my shoulder
a few times I heard you breeze by
Only to turn and lose sight

I found traces of you in others
Stayed too long and found
it was just your smoke on their jackets

There have been bouts of regret
Years of doubt
As I convince myself you are a ghost
And I'm a house haunted

That this midnight in my core
A dark night lit with the promise
of the moon behind a cloud
...is delusion

You're there just behind the sunset
Across the street
In a different cafe with the same name

Are you waiting
Did you lose hope
Can you taste it like I can?

Our forever.

Bottled up...

I write best when my lips and tongue
are purple stained.
That purple rain
was nothing more
than truth to vein.
The liquid expression
of love to pain.
Allowing me the courage
to give the scar a name...

Fired Up...

This piece has been moved to my other blog here:

Fired Up- The Fight to Maintain Positivity