Mirror

How do I tell you how weightless I feel,

How I float in clouds, and nothing seems real,

How the sky transforms a new paradigm,

How my love burns inside like a film reel,

Playing images my heart cannot steal,

My comfort is a deal.

*

A deal we made together, signed in time,

Years of ink promised on the dotted line,

A deal we made that we’d each be enough,

That I’d think of you when I write a rhyme,

That fate gave us each other, as a sign,

My comfort is mine.

*

How do I say my heart flies like a dove,

How do I tell you that you build me up,

You make me so much stronger than the lies,

The sting lifts, of a heart’s edges so rough,

I melt away, no more need to be tough,

My comfort is your love.

*

I think of you, and my river heart cries,

I see the whole universe in the skies,

I know we’ve been gone now for quite a while,

I remember our laughter, tears, and sighs,

And I remember how all my pain dies,

My comfort is your eyes.

*

When they look at me with no denial,

When they well up, and tears flow like the Nile,

Like no one could really see me but you,

Like this poem’s true death was in its style,

My words can’t capture it, they’re juvenile,

My comfort is your smile.

*

When I know that all feels happy and true,

And I see on your face, you love me too,

And I feel in this world, we’re all alone,

So time disappears, there’s nothing to do,

And we stare up there at the endless blue,

My comfort is your hue.

*

Oh sky, my dear blanket of monochrome,

Oh sky, I rise to you, just like I’ve flown,

My sky, my love, are you truly now her?

As the “you” I address becomes unknown,

The poetry dies in a blazing moan,

My comfort has grown.

*

An empty muse, my comfort no longer,

The rhymes, the subjects, they are my dear blur,

The comfort is more now, I feel it bloom,

It’s not this writing, this petty structure,

A whisper, a promise, an empty word,

My comfort is fissure.

*

It’s writing freely, for voice I leave room,

Breaking the shape, being poetry’s tomb,

But it’s hypocritically I rebel,

This poem is structured, pretentious fool,

I should write about blankets, love, the moon,

My comfort is doom.

*

Doom of a poem with nothing to tell,

One that lingers on the elusive elle,

Instead, my comfort is the love of all,

To float adrift, the sky’s love does compel,

So this hopeless disillusion I quell,

My comfort is no belle.

*

I’m sorry I made you something so small,

A belle, a muse, my projections appall,

You’ve always been so infinite, so grand,

I’m sorry for my illegible scrawl,

Into eternity can we please crawl?

My comfort is your call.

*

When I hear your voice, and logic I strand,

We talk endless, I ignore what I planned,

But like our call, this poem too must end,

I must bring it down, I must make it land,

(Someone save this poem, don’t let its shape expand)

Will you land with me, together we stand?

The hourglass dies, will you be my sand?

My comfort is your hand.

*

Your hand held in mine, to time we attend,

Wind in our hair driving around the bend,

We look to the clouds, and all seems clearer,

I stare at my screen, contemplating “send”,

A thoughtless message, I solemnly penned,

For all those mistakes, I try to amend,

Up to the sky, can we again ascend?

My comfort is my friend.

*

I’m so proud, she’s doing well, I cheer her,

I just want to listen, and to hear her,

I look to the elusive reflection,

As the end comes, the poem grows queerer,

Will you hold me again, bring me nearer?

My comfort is my mirror.

*

This isn’t true,

I can’t write about you,

This doesn’t feel new,

I must kill rhyme.

*

It was never you

It’s me

It was never me

It’s you

Who is the poem

*

Is it a love poem?

I’m just not sure

It must be, in some sense,

But about who?

*

The warm coffee on my lips,

The waves of poem flowing by,

Your hand laying softly in mine,

The soft blanket of your words,

It should all make me feel comfortable

*

None of it does

None of it comforts the screaming in my head

headheadheadheadheadheadhead

None of it comforts the knives in my spine

Stab Stab Stabbing Stabbing Stabbing Stabbing Stabbing

None of it comforts the emptiness

_______________________

None of it comforts the endless falling

Falling

Fall

F

*

But for a moment I sit still, for a moment I look to the sky.

For a moment, I sit. Quiet. I feel the moment. I hear nothing.

I taste the warm coffee, so toasty on my lips.

The waves of poetry, song, and love flow by,

Crashing me gently on the rocks, like a careful stream.

Your hand rests softly in mine, my fingers curl around,

Holding a piece of you as our lives slow down.

The blanket of your voice, speaking as only you can,

Wraps me in clouds, as I feel myself drift off.

I am comfortable.

I am okay.

Who said I wasn’t?

I love you.

*

My voice breaks, don’t you hear my inflection?

I watch my teary eyes with affection

My layers of artifice slowly peel

To my deeper truth, I feel connection

Since there is no such thing as perfection,

I let myself be, without any abjection

*

My comfort is your eyes

My comfort is your smile

My comfort is your hand

My comfort is my sky

My comfort is my friend

My comfort is my mirror