He is beauty, he is charm,
sculpted by eons of erosion
and shifting tectonic plates.
I am torrential, I am worn
from sediment and memories.
Going through the motions,
lapping against shores.
Who insists on these deathbeds
god knows I don't.
I thwart every maneuvre;
dating apps, eye contact,
all the people I pass by.
And then there you were,
in the liminal space,
slipping past my defences—
not through clever tricks,
but simply by being you.
Lovely warm fuzzy feelings, you said.
You understand me, you see me, you—
make me feel optimistic about the future.
Well, I wanted to say,
you metre my cadence
of syncopated misery.
There you were,
all dulcet tones and warmth
burning through silk—
my autumnal sunshine.
And here I was:
dead set on a fermata.
Part of me hopes
this longing isn't reciprocated.
Mountains and rivers are
permanence and passage,
profoundly interconnected
and forever apart.
YOU ARE READING
Blood Orange Periphery
PoetryMy suicide had been two years in the making when I decided not to follow through at the last minute. Over the past decade, I've written poems, books, short stories, fanfiction and hundreds of thousands of words, but nothing felt complete. This coll...
