I don’t want to hold onto this enormous feeling.
A Skeptic once said the past isn’t present,
So let us believe that a fullness isn’t real
(A limit we reach where we can no longer give, share, believe),
Let this feeling take us on a tenderness stroll
Like sheer cotton shading giant pillows we lounge upon,
Meandering through ancient streets and wild forests
Where we stop at every third park bench we pass
To sit closely and pretend we’re still consciously speaking
In syllables that reason can understand and explain,
For to me your words speak in gestures only my ears
– And perhaps the dear sweet Cupid who so cleverly pinned us –
Can fully grasp at, mingled so heavily with vibrant lips
My eyes cannot escape being entranced by,
And breath mine hairs can feel so warmly upon
With your gentle yet firm fingers ever so delicately
Squeezing a new pattern into mine palm of eternity.
I want to hold onto you, the back of your neck with softest of curls
As our lips mean to share what we’ve intoned of a feeling,
Forgetting for brief moments our shooting star madness
And living a while longer by the bane of our senses.
Tag: park bench
Exactly 29 Times (day 988)
Mystically speaking, the proverbs are relating accurately;
Horizontally strengthened with the thinnest of threads
Circled around my baby finger exactly 29 times
In a very tightly strewn pattern, accidentally.
Insomniac. Running at top speeds with wild horses;
That old farmhouse sitting amongst poppies and buttercups
Where I’ve lived once before; a feeling from depths unexplainable
Leveraging it’s way amongst modernities.
So it was a callused palm that broke this frozen spell;
Alone upon a park bench of inner city, inner beauty,
Brook bubbling by with homeless and suits (much quicker)
An eye awoke to stretch it’s glorious wings wide.
To which I had never encountered before;
To who I had never held hands with before;
To where I had never stepped in and amongst before;
To here, to this home of a quietly broken fear.
