Say, do you remember when
we pressed our palms together
and our lifelines intertwined –
I wonder how many millimeters
of time can be measuring in
these tangled memories.
get lost in frayed thoughts,
set tears on fire so cooled hearts
remember what numb is not,
even if the burn is less passion and
more pain, feel it from femur to fingertips.
sometimes I wake up from dreams
that have more vibrancy than reality,
haven’t we all lied in bed for what could
have been a moment or stretched by shadow
into days, into a daze, eyes closed,
trying to slot scrambled scenes into a movie
where we get the happy ending we deserve
before the light turns back on?
when boredom creeps in,
I hold my breath and watch the clock
tick down just so emptiness gains form
and I can be reminded that this body,
gasping for air, wants to be alive.
Tonight, the sky is black.
Fire is calm, heart obsidian, cuts
life in unequal halves.
mentioned: to be unnamed
This poem is inspired by Call Me By Your Name & was written with Visions of Gideon playing in the background.
If Heaven is built on white lies,
then let me believe for the last time
that your breath can run into mine,
giddy with love, you and me, likewise.
But why is it that every time our lips
collide, I can’t taste anything beyond
the quiet? Tell me, when will the thought
of you stop clouding these closed eyes?
Don’t forget the rain and wistful smiles.
Hey love, am I still allowed to call you
so? I suppose names were never our own,
gifted to us so our entirety can
be condensed into palpable syllables,
rolled over the tongue, bitten into and
chewed on until the flavour fades
or tastes suddenly change.
(Why did you change, or did I?)
I guess I thought I would be okay but time
reminded me of its unpredictable path
from now until tomorrow, here I am again.
Silence stretching out as long as a
sleepless night, and I am unlearning desire,
like feeling itself is a bad habit, brea
king words until they lose all meaning,
writing about you until I forget the way
I used to whisper – your name.
Continue reading “to be unnamed”