Archives for posts with tag: love

Light fades into dark,

the hues of dusk wash over the horizon leaving

a moonless sky blanketing

the world,

my world.


I rise from a burnt out fire,

from a now-vacant warmth,

charred and growing ever colder,

not even enough remains

to use to light the path

that lies ahead.


I walk alone,

in spite of the belief—in spite

of the hand—I once



In the dark

and in the cold,

there is no solace,

only resignation

to the dark and cold reality

that dreams of love

are simply delusions

conjured from the infection

of hope.


The deafening roar of silence
smothers the flame;

it burns,
fighting for words
in the dead air of night;

its light
wavers, as the dark
encroaches, as the cold
assails the red-yellow licks
of the fire,

creeping like an inevitable tide,
wave after wave — unstoppable? — no mind
to relent, no thought given
to what fuels the flames.

They sputter, those flames, but
endure, the light of the present
fighting to illuminate
the path
into that clouded,



The last ride went too fast. The terminal

expected her.


Dawn appeared half-heartedly and grey,

as we rose

from a night we didn’t want

to end; knotted stomachs

filled with morsels

of a breakfast unwanted, undesired, necessary;

then we drove


ten kilometres of silent goodbyes,

words caught somewhere between

heart and mouth,

tears falling and flooding,

we had to open the windows

to breathe.


The terminal expected her, waited for her.

I pulled in and we got out,

amidst a sea of travellers,

to verbalise again

what had already been said

under an inky night sky,

but not said enough.


The pain of separation, inevitable

but that doesn’t make it easier,

and it’s only for a time:

three months in waiting

after three weeks

of everything one could ever



The terminal expected her

and it would have her. A kiss

and those words, burned into my memory;

I watched her walk away, ignoring

the attendants telling me

to move on, I watched her

through eyes glazed,

with a heart heavy

but full.


The last ride went too fast,

yet these three months can’t pass

fast enough.


They told him,

‘You are more than good enough.’ They said,

You are worthy

of your own acceptance’. Belief in those words

sated him, and his vacant heart, but

it lay in wait, that


skittish horse, invisible, universal,

always walking

in front of him, reins tied

to ropes

to his stomach, knots loose, dictated by

his heart, connected

to that skittish horse.


Time passes, his heart filled,

dreams and reality

poured in, a concoction unheard of,



real; the change sent unguarded vibrations

down the line, it bolted, that mare,

and those ropes stretched taut,

those knots tightened, pulling him

through lives and places,

hearts and minds,

ruination to him.


Yet whispers of words calmed it,

stopped it,

and the hands of those words

untied those knots, as he struggled

to stand and survey

the wreckage in his wake.

Heartbreak awaiting, guilt

abiding, he turns and witnesses

the intangible carnage, defeated utterly.


They told him,

‘You are more than good enough.’ They said, ‘

You are worthy

of your own acceptance.’


They lied.


She watches a sunrise, long

after me—the same

sunrise—my eyes see it and keep it clandestine because

even the sunrise knows

it’s not complete

until she sees it, counterparts of light,

she is sunrisical.


We’re worlds apart.

Three weeks in our own world,

living as careless lovers, lost

in each other, as if existence was conditional,

we lived in each other, sailing on waters unchartered,

somewhere in our hearts, connected,


through the abyss, we haven’t landed yet, running

beyond that gate we opened, now lost

in a world hurled into because

Life, torn

apart but

I won’t let this storm inside

rip my sails apart,


I’ll keep rowing, even when

the wind dies down

and a fog descends; I’ll follow

my incomplete heart to find

the place she is.


These ghosts that live

all around me—reminders of

her—haunt me because

there is no other way, breathing

in every memory, oxygen isn’t enough, she sits

on a mountaintop

in my mind

and the path to her

is steep

and rocky

and if I rest

I might fall.

I’ll reach the top.

I’ll reach her, climb


until I reach her.

And when I do

I’ll breathe in the fresh air of her,






The neon name of the diner flickered. It bathed the street in a soft blue glow, forcing a sense of melancholy on passers-by. It reflected off the wet ground and suggested a mirror diner where things might be better.

Inside, a middle-aged, world-weary waitress in a pale blue dress and coffee stained apron stood behind a counter, off-white and worn. She cleaned the night’s dishes with a trained efficiency: working smart not fast. She’d look up every so often to check on the two men and their coffee cups.

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It could be the foreign cold

or the concrete infection

of that city


that summons this debilitating fog:

blanketing my eyes, pervading

my mind, clawing

at my yearning heart.


What once was now is not,

and walking over

that grave—frigid fingers of the past’s


ghosts on my neck—it hits me.

Longing for what now is: the present,

free air, my love.

A knife piercing nothing


in the darkness. The world

beneath turns. I see



and I return, heavy-

hearted and in need, restrained

from the elixir of my parched heart.

I see you, my beauty, and


the ethereal nourishment that comes

from you voice,

your touch, fills me:


an empty vessel with a memory

that aches, the echo

of a song that fights

the silent dark.



I sit across from her

and tell

her it’s been

too long;

she looks beautiful

like she always has

and I tell her, you’re

looking pretty like



she smiles and says,

two skinny lattés


to a man




I roll and light

a cigarette.


I’ve missed you:

the sun doesn’t shine,

flowers will not


the well is dry,

words elude me!

yet I feel it now,




she says, thank

you, to that same


and she sips her coffee

and checks her phone


seeing you now has opened

doors that were

merely ajar, I say.

I am yours! everything! all of

it! I



her coffee is gone,

mine is cold, and

her eyes do not


and we sit there like


until the sun does



and it does finally set.

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