.    burial  / ...  in the hiraeth, within the linings of its suitcase

To sort it all out... fuck. I’m doing the same re: memories. What are actual, what are made up. What I am able to feel, taste smell without falling to the floor. The hiraeth, hitting tummy like a tilt a whirl... and longing to trade the intensity of it with, anything else.  
This is a knock out piece Andrew. Seriously beautiful. ❤️  
And this visual is so well balanced. Adds deeply to the layers. You are perfect in it. Big love always Andrew

Dude, this is gutting. Those first three lines below the black are my favorite. The language becomes a little surreal for me in the use of attic in that list of two other adjectives, but it conveys the finality of that location beautifully. Great stuff.

What parts of love remain, shall we hope to grasp at them...
is it all still worthy?
I like to think so, the core of it was once known, held and treasured.
They remain in the person or people...good times and bad happen
often times in a successive rhythm of repeat...getting away from the negative back to positives can be tricky.

Quite the poetic painting of these trials...
Delivery is Gorgeous -As Always Nomoth

Pen on in Flair Poet!!!

First off this is the most beautiful visual format you've utilized for me. The details of the write are so spiritually palpable. It's almost like hovering over this moment of your life, all the deeper wells of feeling and rivers of time that lead to it, just below the surface. Your writing should be celebrated and studied. It's a masterclass in poetic presence, sensitivity and subtle expression.

Hiraeth is one of my favourite words and you have certainly done justice in this mini epic. Rob

i had originally read this word as hiraezh. i dont know if this is the correct spelling. Thanks Rob it is such a fucking beautiful word ...dont want to lose anymore big time.

Hiraeth – what a great word – reminds me of the Portuguese 'saudade'

My favourite phrases in this poem:
to paw the lock... these sophomoric fingers
this marriage, folded with the old bedsheets
flailing between the thread count... to wrestle out its lie
eking a fibre of presence out of what is not
very vivid imagery and well captured essence.

again thank you so much.

I have not read this since i wrote it and you have reminded me  that there are things I would like to try and improve with this, such as the flow which is not that great, whilst keeping those things that work.

thanks again, so very encouraging.