I.
cheshire // october
you are a cat that has lived eight lives--
wise with years spent and lost;
knowledge has gifted you recklessness
II.
goodbye // july
if i were to taste words on my tongue
they would drip with the flavor
of fruit in the heat of summer
sticky fingers covering wide smiles
to hide joy from the sun
III.
heart // january
even the strongest smiles
can be broken with love
jagged shards of you that
draw blood as they pull though skin
to stitch your remains up in a smile
leaving only whispered thoughts of tears
IV.
flight // december
and it’s a strange thought--
you can’t spell forever
without the skeleton of over
for permanence
is nothing but a fleeting dream
built atop the bones of endings
and when our forever dies
the gaunt hands of over
claw their way to earth
and we are lost but
also free
V.
sonder // september
within every smile there is
a secret that begs to be spoken aloud
and another that cages itself inside,
refuses to be realized--
and in you there are
more secrets than fingers,
than toes,
a heart so full of whispers
that when it resurfaces
from the depths of sorrow
it can only gasp in enough air
to cry
VI.
crows // august
in silence i am loud--
an unknown force that
rattles with warning and
breathes in the scent of victory;
their strength does not lessen mine,
does not break me,
for I am the last word spoken,
now.
VII.
effervescence // march
the words will always lay
heavy on your chest
ghosts of albatrosses
long forgotten
as the water calls;
goodbyes drowned
in the crash of
waves against hull,
the loneliness of the
sea and you
VIII.
was // february
it is love that tucks you in at night,
that holds your hand during thunderstorms
but it is also love that tears your heart from your chest
and lets it breathe its last beat into the street
alone
stuttering against the cold of gravel
it is love that smiles in red,
teeth bared for an ending
that is bittersweet
it is love that greets you in the morning with a smile
hands grasped until knuckles turn white.
it is love that tastes of chocolate
Warm and melted on the tongue
And
it is love that tells you all you know,
things that are meant to be screamed from rooftops and whispered at campfires
secrets pressed between flames and declarations carried in the air
And
it was love that laughed at the endings of stories
that whispered, “forever and nothing are synonyms in my language”
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