Strangeness abounds in this scene of chess.
The flight of birds that beat upon the heart.
The wonder of the spark
Love is born.
And yet, in flight, a one-winged thing.
Flutters just above a watery grave.
The hunger of the heart
And the love borne enflames.
The peach that whispers of sweet juices.
Filled with a stone pit, unbreakable and hard.
How I long for your arsenic center,
Knowledge against wisdom, it kills.
That twist of blue in the air
Inhaling the deep draw of unrequited
surrender. How I attempt your capture
but fingers only disturb you into oblivion.
I wish I could make you
see, you dandelion creature,
blown away. Without a trace.
I wish I could force upon you
to understand my language
of love. Left un-translated.
I wish upon a thousand stars
To know your color, to know
your scent. Describe us together.
That whine of despair inches deeper
A knife so cruel, it leaves me alone
to struggle against the smooth silver
Aiming for my heart that reaches out to you.
The scent of morning glories. Rising
like a sun. You breathe sweet love into
me, but steal away my breath with a smile
A word that does not match my own.
We love those we cannot touch.
And those that love us find no shelter.
The wonder of a heartbeat
Patterns that do not match our own.
I reach out for you seeing beauty
But your rejection stings my soul.
The hunger of a sacrificed love
Find a home where you belong.
Perhaps this is all we find here, so delicate,
this creature of disjointed happiness.
The want of someone who looks to the horizon,
and finds another standing there.
How strange this game of chess, forever guessing another’s next move.
How strange this twisting, unraveling, hurt.
How strange, the whisper of the heart,
begging for just a small word of love.