Hues

Blues

I wrote your name,
beside my bones,
sat where the wind
licks in as if soaking up wine,
flushes the cheeks,
satisfied by the change
and I held it
on every climb,
in every plume
of Winter's breath,
every ounce
of dragon in me,
dragged it freely,
between deciduous oaks,
over marsh flats,
lifted slowly
to hear the rushes,
so it could cling to
the melodic sound of silence,
by sea,
away from fire
I've weaved your name,
around others to keep it seeping
out into all elements of time,
tucked the certainty,
the ghost of our energy
deep into sunlight left in my mind,
and told the moon
about someone else
I worship like a storm,
who took something from me
and was left lighter,
left none the wiser.
It all blends grey and pale, pale blue.

Pink

We are tired.
In a glass of smooth Malbec,
I turn my eyes over your edges,
we've been stretching this unrest,
finding homes, driven by rich
webs of palm brushing knee,
neck flexing and we, impatiently,
allow a space between
to hide all manner of sins,
lose hours, complacency
is never lost on me,
let the wolf howl,
nails bitten deep
in the table, leaves a hole -
focus on cards,
connectivity
lazily and shame
simmers, under surface
activated. We finish the bottle,
power held on a thin line,
you pull the bind
as if we're exchanging
messages through a weave
that'll follow me home
and when it boils,
we entangle.
I let knots become a flight within,
this - you- where the nightingale sings,
the what have we dones can wait
until morning, rise on a ride,
until we want to get off.