The contours of her crinkled face stood in stark contrast to her bright, clear eyes. Intelligence radiated from the woman like love from the warmest of hearts, her heart. Some called her aged, an old lady awaiting that final journey. I called her Nanna. My name fit her best.
￼ this thing we call dance such exquisite symmetry played out to heartbeats
Dead hearts don’t beat, Just strive to remember how. When time stops, Memories overlap like autumn leaves; They mix and combine, Suffuse each other with irregular somethings, Tiny flecks of uncertainties, Fiddling for those moments most precious From that veil of lost things, Lost hopes, Lost forevers. They wait for something to stir them, Move […]
There is no space between us, No defining line. We are an amalgamation Of skin and bone and love. To the outsider, We are one, A single being. To ourselves, We are so much more. Nameless, We share the same place, The same thoughts, The same heart And shall do so Forever.
Beauty lies In the pouring wax Not the naked flame For is it not In the melting That hearts Are sundered And remodelled Is it not In shadows And depleted candles That loving moods Are made
Stepped the rainbow road Across the arching light Intent on finding something A promise of a dream But before destination completed Stretched for pooling gold Closed my eyes And realised in the peace of the moment The beautiful tranquility The real gold The memory I yearned for Was secured deep in a beating heart Her heart […]
In the space between heartbeats, I nuzzle against an aortic channel Unsure if it yours or mine, Waiting for the next beat to come, Next pulse to race, Next proof of life in this otherwise torpid world: Proof of me. Always waiting. Waiting. Waiting. — Yours.