Conjoin:
Dear Him.
How many years now?
How many years have we folded into the secrets that time is made of?
My secrets.
Yours.
A bibliography of dreams untouched by truth. We seeded something though, you and I. In dark corners and deep dreams. In silliness and fire skin. In spiky grass and houses made of dust. In teenage legs and adult eyes. In too many truths and not enough sighs.
In windows that were too dirty to see through. I always stood looking out. Hands on hips. Words on lips.
And saw/
I made you into a troubadour. A perfect warrior poet. All muscles and skin and letting me – only me – in.
And
We seeded something, you and I. A poppy seed dream. An unlined seam. A sparkle in a stream. My feet cracked the banks and I looked down to see/
/I was losing me.
I don’t remember the last time.
The last time that I loved you.
But I remember the first.
Its skeletal remains a wind chime in my memory
Bones that scream and sing in the wind
Tones that make beauty taste like maybe
Love taste like I didn’t know how perfect I could be
Yesterday taste like salad without dressing
Today taste like tomorrow taught me how to roar
I stopped loving you. Because I started loving me.
Because that little seed of spinach made me taste a different song. A song that leads me on. And on. And on. And on.
It’s a song that tastes like grateful. A song with your son’s eyes. A song with my laugh.
How many years now?
How many more?
To find the peace I came for?
From Her.
*
Another Dirty Thirty poetry prompt:
Day Twenty One
Write a love letter to an old flame.
The catch? To make sure it doesn’t sink to a sea of sappiness, try to use 1 or more of the following word/phrases in the poem:
poppy seed, bibliography, troubadour, skeletal, spinach, conjoin
creating art in the desert 