You speak of a love
trapped in the shadow of rain.
The kind that paints the sky with a velvet passion.
The veil of spring that glistens over a face of flowers.
Caught amidst the gust,
these seasons surrender to a greater flow.
The ground beneath you fights to scream
“LIAR”
but you exist in the flare of midnight.
Tucked away from the war a past
that’s met its future.
How can we focus on the now
when it doesn’t happen?
Moments of loneliness
are when I cry for your company
to alleviate the suffrage of language
yet you don’t arrive
and my hear sinks,
longing.
But in unexpected moments
you’re there
whispering and tugging
at the strings of my spirit,
sending vibrations that wake
the dead and forgotten.
Eruption ensues as a correlation of words and thoughts collide
to inspire the splashing of ink.
Then the dot strikes and you’re gone.
My heart empties and I ponder of your return.
I miss you but I don’t grieve.
You always return despite the void in a heart.
A broken heart is never truly broken,
it’s just waiting.