i live a million lives
while you sleep.
i live a life of mornings
where the sun burns
and i find you
in the cupboards
i slam shut,
swirling in the black brew
that scalds my tongue.
i like to watch the pot
s i m m e r.
i live a life of afternoons
when the sky staggers
under the weight of time
and you are in the sunset
because you never stay.
i like to watch the day
s i n k.
i live a life of nights
when i howl at the moon
and smoke in my t-shirt
on a sidewalk somewhere
far away from you.
i like to watch the ashes
c r u m b l e.
a million lives
and i still
cannot live without you.
About the Creator
Sara
Don’t look for love.
Be love.
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress3 days ago in Poets
Timothy
My fingers inch closer to the keyboard, itching to obliterate a day's worth of work. It's some of my best writing I've done to date, but at what cost? The words seem to bleed, dripping onto my desk. For a millisecond, I'm sitting in front of a crime scene, looking at dead, begging eyes. Why? Why me?
By Alexandria Stanwyck4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
I always get excited when I see a new piece by you. You never disappoint
I feel the anguish, pain and suffering; exceptional prose.
This hits hard I love this poem❤️❤️❤️