Hey, it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything! I’ve created a new site which I’m dedicating to solely written work, although I might post some other stuff there too. Check out http://ichgrolle-nicht.tumblr.com/ if you like, it gets a little more activity than this blog, though I can’t guarantee a whole lot more, I’m pretty slow-paced!
Like an involuntary function
of the tide
coming in for the closing
driving back home late
on a Saturday night
with my boy on my shoulder
Like the blood
surging through these hands
as sure as there are spirits
who lap and linger
against the outsides of closed windows
For they shall always find ways
of creeping under door cracks
sweeping into our beds and into our hearts
A tidal wave
of raw emotion
and feeling
He wore my favourite colour
he wore our favourite colour
he was all brand new
he was ripe for the picking
there
was my reason
there
was my caffeine shot
swirling and swelling
on my cold morning feet
(Source: Spotify)
With one foot out,
one tucked under
the body, I sit.
She tells me
that
I am
always
moving,
that
the moment
I find myself
in one place,
settled
and satiated,
I am already
flinging myself
towards the next
step, next
face, next place.
Always in
constant
movement,
a consistent
…
I woke to your breath again this morning.
It had been sitting on my shoulder for hours
with honey gold eyes which glowed
like two bronze medallions in the early dawn
wavering slightly as the moon does when the tide comes in
and night’s flame breathes its last when the wax melts away –
Naturally
I’m waiting for you to come and get that.
In the meantime I lay alone
and just stared at that glorious painting.
The same painting I let my dreams take sail in
the night you asked me to lie beside you.
The Coastguard’s Cottage at Pourville
It’s funny how colours change with the natural course of time,
how my sanity revolves in clockwise motion on the tip of a second hand –
one that wasn’t mine, yours rested on my chest for quite some time
with hues steadily lightening to match the daylight streaming through the window
of your eyes
overturning how I perceived just about everything I ever once did.
And my boat’s there, but it’s in the far horizon.
Most times even I can’t see it, but I like to imagine that despite daily chaos it floats there.
Maybe it just depends on the lighting, or the time of day.
But she slips away each morning
licking her paws and jumping off the bed
her tail slinking past the door frame as she leaves the room.
And the memory of her honey gold eyes
engrained and bright in my memory
and his breath
is as easy as the morning sun
peeking over the horizon.
