gifts.the blue light of the bus shelter summons the ghosts inside you.gifts. by nighttimebeautiful
the near biblical sound of snow; sleeping rain, shifting on the sidewalk.
we take the bus when we want to drink
or when we want to experience new people.
we take the longest route home
and watch the snow fall
and the people talk.
(grace me with a small plant that i can tell to grow
and i’ll be happier than with a thousand dollars in a card.)
and i take the bus to have silence and solace.
gift me with a last-line bus ride at one in the morning
and i’ll spill all my secrets.
i’ll write poems about the snow and be grateful.
listen to how an alone man sighs
on the bus at one in the morning.
you’ll be grateful.
(grace me with the sunrise over the golf course in our backyard
and i’ll be happier than with shiny new countertops in the kitchen)
you know how ghosts come out at one in the morning,
but you also know how they come out not from graves, but from the living.
the ghosts come out from the men
duality.Wax was your lips on a winter evening.duality. by nighttimebeautiful
And the dares of a paperback novel flooded my basement,
(there was no air in the sky and every movement
lead to a cryptic mess of unfortunate silence).
Large words that peppered your mouths corners
sliced my heart, and you stole me again.
(then there was a small crack in the wall
when you touched the earths eyes and she smiled).
Little specks of blood-washed daises fell.
And i knew that it was your heart that bled.
(the alleys were all grey with betrayal
and the night crawlers kept a hold on your eulogy).
Hand made books of black ink and early morning drawings
is where my words were housed, you left them unheard.
(still, there was no air surrounding the sky, tattooed
children of paper and porcelain remained shattered from nights past).
A ball of twine was given as a undescribable gift,
from your swamp hands of green and yellow;
(and this is where the wind is mellowed by shallow seconds,
and the macabre of love omits you as mine.)
hysteria.you keep butterflies in your closet for when i cry.hysteria. by nighttimebeautiful
for when the momentum of the world screams
through my bones, and its the beauty which i
love that brings my disaster. you hang sheet
music from my skin, and tell me that im not so
sane anymore. you said that the grass is always
greener on the other side, but i like this side
just fine. through your drawers you rummage until
you find the perfect colour to paint the sky.
i think maybe its the way that you bare your heart
to the small things that no one else dares to love,
or maybe its the way that you dare to love me.