TheCourtRose

Full to the brim of frothing questions and agitations, and like so much mourning, the only way out is through to find the center of things I am what I am after a thousand and one reasons to keep one foot out the door, believe me when I say, I am more exhausted than you when dealing with the ebb and flow of Me But perhaps not You, my love, are saddled with being the Rock and the Patience, while I have come undone to the stitches every which way since our first Day One Yet we breathe forward each time, finding a path through, placing pink and tender feet upon stronger ground Wobbling, as if the all the limbs are brand new But they are! They are brand new! Fresher minted than any good luck penny (Never in my deepest dreaming did I let myself believe I could actually Be. Happy.) And you say with a smile while we walk together, "You are who you are, and I love you" So, naturally, I want to run screaming away ('Cause that makes sense) and drink only from...

Curled my hand into a claw at her insistence, palm down against the table Ready to receive her reading once my jagged hand turned over- not before "Cupping the Universe" she intoned, although it gets fuzzy now She warned me away from the "red dragon" with a vehemence that vibrated bone Rich brown eyes drilled deep, emphasizing dire unravelings should we ever meet again in the flesh Giddily, I thought- Man, that's epic My mind's eye saw two dragons at war in the same soul, like roller coasters always encroaching, never colliding I thought- Well, if there's a green dragon too, he can't be that bad But even I could see the red dragon wins this time There is no place in between such a dance Wrinkled hands, nearly matching her eyes in tone, caressed the length of my fingers, seeing, not sure what Timeline? Fate? A dire need for moisturizer? At yet another dramatic uttering, I loosed my hand and rapped my head agains...

If the Universe will grant me a gratuitous grant there is a bookstore with a bright blue door It will have dark metal filigree and shamefully seem Hobbit-like in its stance Inside, books, of course, with a predilection for the occult, too A window display of meandering monsters, perching pretty when seen straight on, wandering again when gaze is gone Discomfort will make some patrons scrape for supposition, or hobble out the Hobbit hole (Either way works for me) Honeyed sunlight will slant through windows covered in slates of stained glass Be hard pressed to sell such beauties but if a wide-eyed girl "has to have that" for her mother, I'll cave instantly A man comes in every Tuesday, never buys a thing, I know, and helps himself to tea at the caddy in the corner, using the same red-chipped mug every time (I won't say a word) I know he's here for the quiet It's P.G. Tipps, after all I'll sigh deep with understanding Graphic no...

One scoop of mint-chocolate, one of cinnamon for me A chocolate monstrosity of the highest order for you (You insisted on trying mine, probably needing to disperse the palette) Ice cream always did make you 5, even when I was 5 and you into your 40s Worried that tasting cinnamon brings your ghost too close Instead, I am hankering in its shadow Perhaps time is relinquishing its hold to the better memory of you Went for gelato on Father's Day, he and I, to sweetly scour bitter recollections (He insisted on trying mine) Takes me for walk dates in Old Town, too Have yet to try those candy apples in the window Couldn't before because caramel tasted like emptiness on the day I quit eating completely Yet here I stand before the glass, craving the impossible Years of  deprivation melt He says I taste like caramel and apples (Such wonderful nonsense must continue) Cinnamon can now be the shadow of your life Time is not so strong, not compared to the busi...

Fingers keep tagging the wrong keys Words twisting together, interlocking and confusing each other Locution not so readily available currently A store that stops selling articulation around 8pm, instead of the 7/11 variety  Don't really wanna waste money on cheap, sugar-coated words anyway So much easier to communicate when no one's reading L unch and L ynch getting switched (Which doesn't necessarily mean I want to lynch you, when I'm really just happy you put strawberries in my lunch bag) We debate semantics- I'm lamenting Difficult You're insisting on Challenging Both can be found at higher end boutiques Either way, whoever's right, definitely not a 99 cent purchase

Feels like a backslide, if I had to be honest And if honesty is where you keep insisting, then it was a bruising, downhill tumbling, or a brief, but non-fatal car wreck on the street A long drop, short stop, first fight with a lover Like, a real fight Not the passionate, play around nettles, a rip into skin, only to lick the wounds there Had I been forged in different fires perhaps sass would've been the way, or anger, pure, sweet and direct, uncomplicated and persistent in its glory Me being me, unfortunate as these things go, deflated like a flan in a cupboard Shock and hurt did not resolve to self-righteous words, but stunned into initial Silence and Hesitation A plague of twins on each shoulder, now reawakened, stalking every thought Fervently wishing kinder fires had made me That a different foundation lay beneath In this one moment of time, retribution could had been swift, and not drawn out in questions and aches, for us both So, if you continu...

Last CD he gave me, Christmas carols, blaring into 99 degree heat through open windows Summer Solstice over, the longest day, and that scrap in the road didn't blow a tire "because it's just too hot for a flat" Not too hot for Ave Maria, or a polar bear charm against the skin Perhaps, between the two, enough to keep going Venus and Mars hang low in the sky, heavy enough to see naked Love and war the closest to Earth, as if the symmetry wasn't heavy-handed enough Like living with the two going hand in hand isn't every day, for everyone Find a way to keep going- Carols to blockade the summer, polar bears as companions, Venus and Mars close enough to kiss Whatever symmetry gives sense to this night is the one to cling to

There are clouds here (Or, at least, there will be soon) Their mass filling the rooms Edges soft, it doesn't hurt at all to brush bodies Perhaps, quiet and space are the places to be

Biggest concern at the moment is whether or not I'll regret writing in the downstairs lobby (Missing out on a cushy window seat spied on the second floor) The lethargy of showers and pajamas wins, and gratitude for words finally emerging has terrified me to glue As if shifting a mere floor in a building in the west of Texas might clamp down on what little poetry is pumping forth There are teenagers here Taking up energetic space in a way only the adolescent can A group thirty or so, but it could be three hundred Used the treadmill in the small gym across the hall, more so because the end goal is to be a person who genuinely enjoys such things, rather than actually being that particular person at this juncture in time One man came in and left rapidly, as if my presence embarrassed the both of us (His eyes stayed carefully averted) A teenage boy and girl, with an intimacy only best friends can manage, strolled in, scoped the equipment, and rejoined the thron...

I've been cheating again Seduced by yet another book of blank pages with a harem at home, untouched Coveted so compulsively until their replacement is found Perhaps infidelity is too harsh a charge? Polyamory is the rule of the day For I do not love any book less, but simply crave the equal difference of other Perhaps, I love you too much, dear ones Not wishing to mark upon your free flesh with imperfect thoughts Besides, it is those that feel my hand who are eventually discarded at their fill To avoid the pressure of pen is to preserve your own existence, after all I wish I could say I will stop, but we all know I won't You'll simply have to find it within your pages to forgive me, and pray you never truly keep my attention

Driving snow All that's left of me steering the wheel Mercury retrograde having its way Ghosts in the wind, trailing fingertips across the windshield

Miss you most when I'm walking Your song, playing from another room, gone silent A background I counted in beats Always there I don't feel it until the noises stop When it's just me and the quiet- without you

Pulled every drop of clothing from the closet Untangled each shoe and belt Yanking forth to the living room floor to sort and organize and groom Jackets, scarves, knick-knacks and what-nots Realizing how much is stored away like a manic squirrel in winter terror Anything and everything to keep from remembering, from empty idleness seeping through Busy hands fighting back insistent thoughts, ignoring the bullet hole A lead lodged so deep there is no removal- You are not coming home, but at least the closet is clean