Sunday, June 26, 2011

Day 707: Terisa

to the girl with a kaleidoscope heart
and a sundyle for a ribcage
a compass for palms
a mast of a voice
a sale bent in the small of her back
you are all the parts of home
i never fail to leave without
faded pennies with years 1990
because someone once told me it was lucky to carry the year of your birth in the bottom of your pocket
i listened
not knowing how heavy carrying all of that with me would be
how i would sink
under the weight of
quarters with Kings and phrases said by their son's son's
the lashes of a thousands sunny mornings
the songs of all my fathers
i've found them all hidden in your touch
and the poems you seem to write me in each glance

when i told you we were once lovers
i meant
that i have found parts of your body that someone left behind in my creation
i meant
that when i sing
sometimes your voice stings at the back of my throat
i meant
that every part of my journey seems to brings me closer and further away from you
and i feel every step we take in either direction
like a tug at the hairs at the back of my neck

when i said i love you
i meant
that my hands seem to fit around yours
like somedays i must be a ocean
trying to cover someone insisting on staying grounded
i meant
on the mornings i wake up naturally
i see you scraping through the horizons
trying to find your way home
and i am too enchanted by your journey
to guild you in any direction

when you cried
and i didnt reply
i was sending curses to all the gods that seem to have left us behind
to create something of their mistakes
i was busy being angry at the world
and the parts of it that dare to anything but embrace every bit of who you are

when i wrote you a poem
i tore it to pieces
i took the slivers
and hung each on a different clothes line
they turned wet and withered in the sun
i watched them as they learned to fly
and fall,
in time

when i said forever
i meant that when i die
i hope every bit of you
that is still alive
attaches a story to a part of me to carry into the earth
i hope you remember that compasses arent always true
and sometime you have to leave your hands to themselves
and follow the Mysterious objects in the distance
sparkling like the sunlight
through a sundyle
thats too broken to tell you any time other than now

to the girl with a san satined fever
and a mist for a song
i woke up this morning looking for your palms
for your voice and the small of you back
something to take me away
but all i found were diamonds twisting in the sun
rhinestones twirling smoke signal through my mind
telling me
its gonna be alright

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