deepundergroundpoetry.com

All Dreams




I read your letter by candlelight,
your promises are golden.
I shall not sleep much between
now and the moment
when your words become yellow ribbons,
cut at the ceremony
of reacquaintance.

Tonight, when sleep does overcome
my stubborn conscience,
dreams will be absent.
I've not one, for all fell away
through my open hand,
silent like paper songs
over the side of the bed.
Dreams were let go
to fill my heart of hope
that I carry when I'm conscious.
It weighs me less
though so much in it.

I miss your look,
the curious one;
Half wild, half wondering
like a soft zoo animal
that wants to flirt with man.
I always knew you could
slip through the bars
at any moment,
but you never did.
Just your hand
that moved my hair off my eyes.
That was the touch
that broke us down,
laid us down.

I'd remember without your letter.
Yet here it is, you write
like you love,
flowing and gentle.

Once, behind those slight breasts
you had the grandest of upheavals.
Where dreams and hope
traded gold rings.
Where souls wed
one another secretly,
while hands were kept constant
to avoid jewelry.

But under your dress
there's an anklet
necklace, or piercing
that signifies all of this.
Who needs to know
away from us.
Who else is anywhere
that truly exists.

I have lit four candles,
one to cover each distance.
Although you'll come from the east,
still, I want everyone
to have something to turn to
when they feel darkest.

I fed your letter to candlelight.
The peeking moon squinted
side-eyed.
I laid the torching words
upon the marble tray.
The one where our chess pieces
huffed impatiently,
as we left them to suffer
through our activity.

Gray ribbon-smoke rises
from the sacrifice of words.
The moon wads it up into clouds
and taps the roof.
Rain perhaps, or maybe not.
Yet the fire lifts defiantly
in yellow cursives.
It's every promise from your lips
from when you wrote this song.

I'll play it back for you,
to lead you home.


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