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Description
Bitter coffee at dawn
is an aftertaste
of spilled wine and tears
at midnight.

Flames leap like cheerleaders
But I have little to cheer about
as I leave the house
blanketed in a mist of thought.

I crumble his chocolate
from Ghirardelli,
litter the road with a shared moment
now dead in the grass.

I pound music in eardrums,
intermingling melodies
rewiring the heartbeat
and my voice is a chorus in a Shakespearean play
narrating heartbreak
through the analogy of pop.

Stained glass catches my eye -
what was once clear fogged up
by pastel paint glinting in grey.
I watch them like it's aurora borealis
while the wind races the leaves to my feet
puzzled by my fixation to things that shatter.

By the lake I picture stones skipping away stillness
as my ears are loud with musical catharsis.
Raindrops tap a path home
but my feet cannot follow
those bulleted steps just yet.

I walk instead on the autumn ocean
blanketing the frost tipped grass
And like Moses I float upon its leafy waves
until I hit concrete.

My jeans stick to pavement, glued by chill,
as I sit and write metres from a fire-warmed house,
dreading as the day unfolds
his name will subsume into ‘we’
the plural used singular as
a grammatical tragedy is hinted not spoken.

Description
Bitter coffee at dawn
is an aftertaste
of spilled wine and tears
at midnight.

Flames leap like cheerleaders
But I have little to cheer about
as I leave the house
blanketed in a mist of thought.

I crumble his chocolate
from Ghirardelli,
litter the road with a shared moment
now dead in the grass.

I pound music in eardrums,
intermingling melodies
rewiring the heartbeat
and my voice is a chorus in a Shakespearean play
narrating heartbreak
through the analogy of pop.

Stained glass catches my eye -
what was once clear fogged up
by pastel paint glinting in grey.
I watch them like it's aurora borealis
while the wind races the leaves to my feet
puzzled by my fixation to things that shatter.

By the lake I picture stones skipping away stillness
as my ears are loud with musical catharsis.
Raindrops tap a path home
but my feet cannot follow
those bulleted steps just yet.

I walk instead on the autumn ocean
blanketing the frost tipped grass
And like Moses I float upon its leafy waves
until I hit concrete.

My jeans stick to pavement, glued by chill,
as I sit and write metres from a fire-warmed house,
dreading as the day unfolds
his name will subsume into ‘we’
the plural used singular as
a grammatical tragedy is hinted not spoken.