A Secret Bond

It was a little gift

bashfully put together

inside a tiny carboard box

and sweetly tied

with a white ribbon.

 

It wasn’t much by sight

but if you looked

inside the shared heart

of the giver and recipient

it was everything.

High Noon

And in all of this.

Through all this photo reel.

Through all the words I wrote

and erased and composed and

poured into.

In all the sleepless nights

and starlit drives

and parking lots

and chance and odds,

there lingers a version so different

than the reality that came to be known.

In all of this

it will be looked for and memorized,

through all the rising suns

and dipping moons,

 

for it will always pain me

to miss you in the noon.

My Favorite Song

there is a song i have sung

my entire life.

it is the two bookends

for every experience captured in between,

split in the middle

to meet me in every moment of need:

in every high and low

and every misconception,

making every lovely redirection–

 

it always comes back to singing

You and me.

This Is For You

She received the book,

and it was bound in a lattice cloth

with her name woven at the top.

Inside: you are still the person that I love.

Outside: a beating heart,

a thrown-off start

to reacquainting.

This is for you.

And she ate up all the pages,

all the insane inscriptions, cursive letters,

pictures and stories

pouring out like a deep breath–

they wrote out all the things she’s ever felt or said

from the very beginning of memory.

The book: you have been connected from the start–

you, and all the untouched that you guard.

So this is for you.

If it was all somehow collected and packaged up

to be given to you like a gift,

it would arrive to you like this.

This is the Untouched

All the things left unsaid

are harbored in the heart.

The missing and reminiscing

of stolen sunlight in the park.

Those moments of eyes

and Nevermind’s

and soaking in the silence,

are all the things I hold in me

patiently and distantly.

 

This is the untouched,

the I love you’s and

‘too much.’ The unrequited

investment and lost intention

from the start.

It has abated gently

but never fully left,

an underwater reservoir

of forsaken love and rest.

 

It stays contently,

momently

washed over by doubt.

But the waves of sadness

mean nothing,

when the heart is whole and pure.

It is safely kept and insured,

waiting, left,

and still.

But oh,

if you only knew the untouched.

If you only knew how much

I wanted to love you.

-September 2017