Lying

Here,

We will put down a bouquet,

delicate roses covered in rain.

The table by the door appears forgiving,

and the floorboards creak with familiarity.

They were whispering in the walls when we passed through.

Nobody seemed to notice,

So I sat on the edge of the bed,

and wondered how anyone could sleep through such noise.

3:56am marks the hour in which control finally relented to madness.

I don’t recall rolling dice,

But there they sit

idle, on the nightstand.

An unmade bed where angelic figures morphed into one, and ageless skin sang

from pleasure and pain

and love and loss

and refined fears,

Was left in place of any memories I had before.

The storm did nothing but deepen the bodies

succumbing to

heat

flesh

companionship.

And it was under the faux dawn of lightening that I could finally see,

Our celestial forms were trapped in marble, and we were simply waiting

To be carved out, and set forth in objective loveliness.

Shallow and deep breaths,

a sleeping symphony of

dreams that would not be remembered,

thoughts that were too loud to share,

One moment after fleeting moment.

I thought the winter might last forever.

I could lay petals on their shoulders,

adorn them with gentle reminders that they need be soft,

for love doesn’t bloom in this season.

But instead I sat so still,

afraid to breathe,

and disturb a masterpiece.

You looked so charming,

Beneath the cold sun that morning.

Like you had brought it to me with your bare hands and said,

“Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Somewhere in comfort, there was shame

Lying in the grass.

Lying in wait.

For I had never thought that you might have infused

unforgiving tears,

and small gestures of love,

and drops of blood,

In an otherwise enchanting remedy for loneliness.