Some never fail to disappoint .
Some never learn .
What if I don’t make it ?
What if I do ?
I don’t know what’s scarier .
What if your fingers run into knots
rather than silken routes ?
What if , unlike perfectly trimmed hedges,
those brows are unattended ?
Would you let your lips linger and taste all that she is ?
What if the half moons of dark under her eyes keep you from walking into the shadowy sanctum of her soul ?
What if her songs are not perfectly pitched?
Will you still hold her close enough for your breath and hers to blend into perfect harmony ?
All I’ ve wanted for Christmas the last few years , has been exactly what I try to give up every Lent .
In dim light
he writes unhurriedly
on every line ,
careful not to miss any
and when he’s done
he knows not
that he has left tattoos
on her every bruise .
Some told , some worn , some lived.
She almost made the same mistake .
Confined to the bed but her eyes sparkling with joy , she waited for his call . It didn’t come . He had forgotten .
Three weeks later , he received a call that she wouldn’t make it beyond a few days . He requested the nurse to show her the screen and smiled, “ Grandma , am coming . Hold on .”
Staring at the screen, all she mumbled was , “ Who are you ?” . This time she had forgotten , forever .
hoping to drown
into pools of satin
by the shores of sin
breathlessly , deep ,
to discover treasures
they thought they’d lost.
With remnants of eachother
salvaged , they rise , alive .
Their hearts beating louder
than the breaker’s roar,
Alive , more than they’ve
ever been before .