Conjucture

and
or
but
for
nor
so
yet….

all words meant to connect,
but when you use them,
there’s not much farther apart
we could get

Image credit therapyforrelationships.com, not prompted by any real life situation

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Light Years

surrounded by the night,
I humbly stand, gazing up at the stars,
overwhelmed with both melancholy and hope;
I know I’m looking back in time –
it takes years for their light to reach the earth –
but here I stand, able to see it

surrounded by the night,
I humbly lay, gazing into your eyes,
overwhelmed with both melancholy and hope;
I know I’m looking back in time –
it’s been years waiting for your light
to reach me –
but here I lay, unable yet to see it

-image via Pixabay

Elastic


the first thing you realize 
in a situation without light,
without any way of measuring 
the length of one moment 
over the length of another,
is that time becomes very elastic 

you left,
taking with you everything 
that shone brightly in my world

I’ve tried counting – 
counting the seconds,
counting my heart’s beating,
counting every inhale and exhale –
but my soul can’t focus,
I always lose count 

all that’s left is this dark ache,
time’s cruel richochet,
the backward counting –
retracing the seconds 
to the last time I saw you,
the last time we touched,
the last time I felt
your words grasp my heart

the last time you kissed me 
and made time stop altogether  

-image via Pinterest, original credit unknown 

Loose Ends

I can’t seem to keep the dog from stealing my seat,
the screen door from flying open in the wind,
the breeze from sneaking in through the crack in the window seal,
or stop the overpriced tv from shutting off in the middle of my program

I can’t seem to stop the kitchen faucet’s brain-numbing dripping,
the buffering, buffering of my too-slow connections,
the fucking updates from making everything slower,
or stop the dishwashing detergent from making everything taste like soap

I can’t seem to wash away the smell of woods and pine hanging on my every thread,
the linger of bourbon-soaked conversations between sweat-soaked sheets,
the feeling of your fingertips gliding across my skin,
or stop the electricity from crackling between us in trails of gooseflesh

I have so many loose ends, it seems,
too many to list

but, Baby, you aren’t one of them

-image via Pixabay

Earthshaking

when my exhausted back is aching
and my weathered hands are shaking,
when my tired eyes need waking
and my cluttered mind needs a’raking

there you are, tugging at frayed edges
that need staking,
helping pick up the jagged pieces
that are crumbling and breaking

never turning away
from love’s work that’s painstaking,
investing in the us
that’s forever in the making

we’ve found holy land
in this sacred giving and taking,
and everyday I’m blown away –
because my love for you is earthshaking

-image via Tumblr

The Forest


I’m lost in a forest of the tallest trees, inundated with wickedly bent, sinister trunks, and thicket so dense my feet can barely move, the air damp and heavy, sitting like rocks in my lungs.

Swiping and slashing, I claw at the overgrowth’s sharpness, aching to lift my legs and move, grasping for vines that might save me. Yet, I don’t want to be saved, exactly. I crave absolution.

On tattered, tired, and bended knees, I offer you a ridged branch, begging for penance, desperate for your command, yearning for you to envelope me in the shelter of your palm.

Help me be my vine.

And then I wonder, how heavy is that staff? Is the weight just too much?

You answer, you deliver. You take and give, give and take. With each conviction, a little of you infiltrates me, suffocating the darkness, penetrating every fiber of muscle, saturating each porous bone, filling and filling until you seep up through every follicle and pore, spilling out and bending to my every contour, forming a shield upon my flesh that no thorn can puncture.

Now, I can weave my vine, with threads of you in the center, the strength in its core.

Together we can conquer; we can see the forest though the trees.

-image via Pixabay