Missing and Found

Remember the time when we found ourselves next to each other, sitting in my backyard, surrounded by the song of the crickets that had not yet hidden for autumn. Millions of dreams were hung up in the sky, waiting to be captured. You, so comfortable with brick walls and screaming sirens, found yourself staring at nothing but me and dreams illuminated. I still remember that night. The moon. It was the night after a full moon, and if you looked close enough at it, you could see the tiny sliver missing, invisible unless you knew it wasn’t there in the first place. Your arm was housing me from the elements of hearts at risk. Your silence was telling me stories your lips couldn’t possibly form. And your chest was my brick wall. And I wondered how you could look at me, enveloped by the velvet touch of a breeze and five-pointed dreams and rustic leaves, and still think I’m beautiful. Do you remember that night? That was the night I reached up, with your hand guiding mine, and found the missing shard of the moon.

The Hidden Pulse of Existence

( thanks to strout for the great line :] )

One day they will find (and admire) her beauty. The beauty that comes from within and radiates

out, out, out until it reaches the tips of her fingers, the sunrise in her eyes. They will see the

beauty that captures the curve of her mouth, causing the ones around her to glow with the aura

of life. They will see her beauty as she twirls in circles on the soles of her toes, her heart beating

through her feet, her face tipped up to the sky as if to say, “Today is new, and I feel better.” And

when she places her hand of the neck of the guitar and strokes the song surging through the

veins of her entire being, they will finally find (and envy) her true beauty.

Homage To Her Hands

Hands that have held his face,
As she promises,
Everything.
Will.
Be.
Ok.

Hands that have swept over his body,
Caressing,
Torturing,
Memorizing
Every scar,
Each flawless flaw.

Hands that have brushed his mouth,
With the slightest of touch,
Telling him:
Shhh…
Listen to our heartbeat.
It holds all the answers.

Hands that have expressed
Locked fingers
And matching palms
As
Thundering chests
And unified souls.

Haves that have touched him
In places hidden from the world.
Soothing a punctured heart,
An absent father,
A lost childhood,
His stolen innocence.

Hands that have picked up,
His shattered pieces:
Fragile:
Handle with care.
Gentle hands speaking silent volumes:
I can save you: let me in.