Her eyes have got to be the first thing you notice
like the biggest thing missing from a room after being robbed.
So, remarkably
blue
it’s as if they stole all the color from the sky
and left it plain as your walls
without personal effects.
I hear the chords of several instruments behind a male falsetto
when I look into them
and have to turn away before I begin writing songs.
But, it’s when she smiles
that you really find yourself out of breath
and waiting for the right moment to sigh
like a credible cover which conceals crime.
When I make her laugh
I feel like there is nothing better I could ever do with my time
and nothing I could ever be given as memorable as her attention.
Her hands are long and lean
decorated with silver rings and veins that protrude
like the strength of her entire body broadcast
through everything she touches with a hint of aggression.
I watch her fingers drum on the desk and dance across the keyboard
like a routine she could perform in her sleep
and imagine how they could better be used.
There has not been any value in the whole of my thoughts
since I last saw them at rest,
wanting nothing more in my life than them, on me.
Listening to her list her faults
there is something so blue in her voice,
and defeated about her posture
it makes me want to sit her up straight
while I kneel at her lap and turn my eyes into a mirror
that cannot be argued with.
She has a temper and drinks too much
but many of her actions have spoken to me louder
than the worst of behaviors.
She can be as soft as she is hard
and her heart is every bit as striking as her eyes
in this well lit office
where I fought for so long not to notice
before being swallowed by them both.
She is a puzzle
with pieces that have been ripped through the center and mixed up with others.
She comes to me in coercive bits and familiar words
like one of my poems
I will lose sleep over until correctly assembled.
I am eager and inquisitive but as scared of answers as the questions I haven’t asked.
I cannot imagine her being afraid of anything the way that she lives
but how much of that is just a protective layer?
I want to know her story
as well as my own
like the back of my fears and ink on my skin.
I want to know her fingers, ears, and waist
like parts I was born with and cannot go a day without using.
I want to wake up in her arms and fall asleep in her eyes,
so blue,
I would never need to step outside again
to see the most beautiful thing in the world. _________________ shemovesme.wordpress.com
Sun Aug 14, 2011 6:39 am
EverydayAngelKarie
Joined: 07 Mar 2007
Posts: 761
Location: Lakewood, CA
"and turn my eyes into a mirror
that cannot be argued with"
i like that line a lot. in fact, i like this poem a lot. good one, brach. a very devoted poem. i need to write more devotedly myself. will note this as an inspiration to do so.
<3 EDA karie
Sun Aug 14, 2011 8:33 pm
MysteryGirl Moderators
Joined: 02 Jun 2007
Posts: 3419
Location: I come from a land downunder
No one writes 'hymns of praise' like you do Brach. I like the overall picture they paint but it it is always the individual lines that engage my heart. Like you I once knew, and loved, someone with the bluest of eyes and when I lost myself in them I began writing, not songs, but poems, as you do.
HugZ, MG _________________ Be yourself.............everybody else is taken!
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