Because bread is good, and axioms are rare

Guacamole is often a good idea.

3 notes

Still/Froze Shortness of breath measures out the cost of breathing The in-out of regrets Ebbing into rays of fantastical breeze on the wisps of your cheek. Your movements have struck me into stillness Frozen as lichen in permafrost Warmed by the whispers of a nose through the snow Mid-spring is when I would return. But my growth is not so constant as the seasons Though even the weather has shifted to beyond my understanding these days, These days These days indeed When you or I or us could find an “our” placed carelessly amongst our nouns Tripping into shorter sentences but longer commitments  Catching off guard and holding me fertilized but stunted. Of course there are reasons Reasons for this And for your hand being forever softer then mine. Like your scent in the first of a soundless morning Grasping some part within my ribs and lurching it forward into your back Pulled to you as always, despite my self, my efforts, my family. The things I’ve left behind could rebuild at least one bridge amongst the ashes I’ve chosen to make of my life. Not that I have/had options Not that I knew of a different way But now I am left in a state of halted sensation trembling like the shivers of mercurious star sparks that line your hips . Which I have traced. I HAVE TRACED. To claim Or to know For simply understanding the cost of a love Which you have suspected, but gratefully will never know. All of these days fade The creeks follow into pipes rusted but ready to carry spring gushing out And I would stand to the ready if my abilities allow But again, again, again I am still at the front Again, again, again I am still to the intersection of what I’ve been taught and what I’ve tried to come to understand. So the petals, as always are anticipated long before the first of the days of summer.  - B&A

Still/Froze

Shortness of breath measures out the cost of breathing

The in-out of regrets

Ebbing into rays of fantastical breeze on the wisps of your cheek.

Your movements have struck me into stillness

Frozen as lichen in permafrost

Warmed by the whispers of a nose through the snow

Mid-spring is when I would return.

But my growth is not so constant as the seasons

Though even the weather has shifted to beyond my understanding these days,

These days

These days indeed

When you or I or us could find an “our” placed carelessly amongst our nouns

Tripping into shorter sentences but longer commitments

 Catching off guard and holding me fertilized but stunted.

Of course there are reasons

Reasons for this

And for your hand being forever softer then mine.

Like your scent in the first of a soundless morning

Grasping some part within my ribs and lurching it forward into your back

Pulled to you as always, despite my self, my efforts, my family.

The things I’ve left behind could rebuild at least one bridge amongst the ashes I’ve chosen to make of my life.

Not that I have/had options

Not that I knew of a different way

But now I am left in a state of halted sensation trembling like the shivers of mercurious star sparks that line your hips .

Which I have traced.

I HAVE TRACED.

To claim

Or to know

For simply understanding the cost of a love

Which you have suspected, but gratefully will never know.

All of these days fade

The creeks follow into pipes rusted but ready to carry spring gushing out

And I would stand to the ready if my abilities allow

But again, again, again I am still at the front

Again, again, again I am still to the intersection of what I’ve been taught and what I’ve tried to come to understand.

So the petals, as always are anticipated long before the first of the days of summer. 

- B&A

(Source: flickr.com )

Filed under poem angst queer spring winter detachment orignal work gay internalized homophobia