Here

We lye here naked and broken in places that don’t feel. Twisted vines that scrape our souls and through the crevasse I’m peakin’—memory don’t fail me. Of a wind who whistles, who rustled, who chimed the heavens and chanted the smoke. A wind who shrieked over the mountains that would not move, of mountains that would not speak—hear me now.

We lye here tainted and sown in holes we’ve created. Our hands have joined countless times before. The first, my memory has failed me. But your grip has always been the same. A hand of sun at times would fizz with warmth and tingle with passion—a pulse through yours flows through mine. My lips curled—you’re funny when you offer your hand as though you aren’t permitted to take my own. Take it—I enjoy the occasional surprised spark of skin. Of yours upon mine.

We lye here loved and words don’t come with sound. Our eyes meet and suddenly the earth blurs—you’re all my mind sees. And though the music chimes my ears don’t capture a sound. But suddenly they ring when my arms first grasp your soul, pressed upon my own. I reached beyond my shell and hugged a young man.

We lye here in shoes that leap and hearts that pound. I remember the first time you did not speak to me. This passion and worry spirals like frost amongst a fall breeze. You held your tongue and your eyes screamed yet lowered and bashful. There before me was a vase—flowers of rainbow blooming and a card that read: I love you. This, you held before a heart true. I believe you but my lips don’t repeat it.

We lye here smiles spreading and smiles collapsing. Our lips have pressed million times before—million times more. Laugh through the morning, the night, the yesterday, for the tomorrow. The flushed red cheeks, the punch lines, and the playful punches themselves. The laugh till your tears know no boundaries and the sorrows knows no depth. May the shoulder know every tear. May the shoulder know every joy. May your hands be the palms that hold my face, may my voice be the last that you hear.

We lye here dreaming and stars grasp between our fingers. The flicker of a dream dims and brightens. A strive for greater things. The stage full of bright lights—we stand clapping, an award in your hand. Those eyes gleam and your voice beckons—throttle in that dream. And me, the words print on pages, a story with pieces of ourselves. Let them know.

We lye here in music notes and the keys are pounding. I whisper to you, that I love you. Do you hear me? Perhaps the wind carried my words wrong. May the piano pound them into their keys. Once played, may everyone remember. My soul drains—bring this to you, piece me together. Piece you together. Forgive me—my broken love. Here the music sounds, my words exasperated in the notes. Slur into your own. My fingers pound—the louder I play, will you hear it.

We lye here waiting for the steps to be taken. Horizon clouded and the dust falls and blankets—sand suffocating me. Breathe it in or breathe it not. Raise a head, or lower in confusion. Move forward, move backwards, move somewhere. Towards each other. Say it louder. Say it colder. Say it bold. Say it soft. Sing it high and low. Sing it for the first time, may it be the last time. May it be repeated with a smile. May your voice be heard again in such a way. May the tears not come when I miss you. May they not miss you to begin with. May my hand always fold into yours. May my love never lose you. May you not love someone else—as you had love me. As you have.

We lye here wondering why we stand still. Grip your clothes, reaching for that soul you’ve hid. Tangled in your string. I smile. I don’t intend to snip them and you wonder why I decided not. I grip the words you spoken to me before. I rub the hands that held you. I wrap my arms around the air, around a pillow, this be you. Pounding the keys again, do you not hear me still? You wonder why I keep you, why I kept you, what is past—is it still present? Do I manipulate the thoughts that spin. Why lose myself in someone else. Fish myself out you–not.

I stand here where we stood wondering how to hold you again. Tying the knots back into ourselves. Do you string? Look at me and ask yourself—is there another? Hold me and say, could you hold another. What does time really prove—only that you’ll miss me longer. Pounding the strings, the piano keys. Folding you into my being. Keeping you like a letter through time. Words be strong for me—I say.

I stand here pleading. My fingers fail me—my memory may fail me. But that’s foolish thought. I will always smell your fragrance, your essence on the breeze and wonder where you have gone. Can I cage the wind in a jar—can I press the cold glass against me and believe it you. Your face will reflect in every passerby—is this you coming for me? Cradled my soul in your hands like you had before. Wish me goodnight when nights are long. I imagine the roar of your car around the corner, that alluring smile peaking.

I stand here crumbling. The more I remember—the more I wish it stayed. But there’s no shoulder to know the tears. There’s no wind to carry my voice. What would you hear when it came—what would you remember when it fade—memory be still.