heartbreak and cigarettes

Tag: creativity

  • glue poem

    glue poem

    Our friends say

    that we are fools

    to stay in love

    with each other,

    but I can’t unstick

    myself from the

    glue that attaches

    me to you.

  • Whole Again

    Whole Again

    I know how to make a bouquet

    from scratch. I pull out daisies

    dead and molded from the dank water

    from the purple vase, wash it clean,

    and throw the flowers in the garbage.

    There were no more flowers since

    the day you walked out, the house

    suddenly lost its charm and natural

    light, and I found new ways to

    make myself whole again.

  • New England Snow

    New England Snow

    You and I

    stayed up all night

    talking about nothing

    in the dim light of an old restaurant.

    Outside,

    your glasses fogged up

    in the snow

    and I felt your warm hand in those

    leather gloves on the small of my back

    grabbing for me as I almost slipped

    on the ice.

    And now you’re thousands of miles

    and thousands of text messages away from me.

    We tried to make it work,

    somehow long distance always wins the battle.

    Until next time

    I can see you in the New England snow

    with more walks around the Commons

    and dinners in dimly lit restaurants.

  • Joshua Beckman, “[Lying in bed I think about you]”

    Joshua Beckman, “[Lying in bed I think about you]”

    Lying in bed I think about you,

    your ugly empty airless apartment

    and your eyes. It’s noon, and tired

    I look into the rest of the awake day

    incapable of even awe, just

    a presence of particle and wave,

    just that closed and deliberate

    human observance. Your thin fingers

    and the dissolution of all ability. Lay   

    open now to only me that white body,

    and I will, as the awkward butterfly,

    land quietly upon you. A grace and

    staying. A sight and ease. A spell

    entangled. A span. I am inside you.

    And so both projected, we are now

    part of a garden, that is part of a   

    landscape, that is part of a world

    that no one believes in.

    Joshua Beckman, “[Lying in bed I think about you]”

  • Pablo Neruda, “One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII”

    Pablo Neruda, “One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII”

    I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,   

    or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:   

    I love you as one loves certain obscure things,   

    secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

    I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries   

    the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,   

    and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose   

    from the earth lives dimly in my body.

    I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,   

    I love you directly without problems or pride:

    I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,

    except in this form in which I am not nor are you,   

    so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,   

    so close that your eyes close with my dreams. 

    Pablo Neruda, “One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII”

  • Counting the stars.

    Counting the stars.

    The town lit up
    as the sky turned black
    and we walked down
    the boardwalk,
    hand in hand,
    counting the stars.

    “Counting the stars.” – sugar and sandalwood

  • The end of us.

    The end of us.

    I watched the rain
    streak down the glass
    of the windows.
    Thinking of the last time we spoke;
    I didn’t realize that would be
    the end of us.

    “The end of us” – sugar and sandalwood

  • The beach.

    The beach.

    We were sitting on
    the beach, basking in
    the sunshine, and he
    opened the bottle of
    rose and said
    don’t moments like
    these last forever?

    “The beach.” – sugar and sandalwood

  • The last time.

    The last time.

    I lay in bed, gazing
    at the sky as clouds
    roll past. The sun beams
    down onto my face, and
    all I can think of is
    the last time we kissed.

    “The last time.” – sugar and sandalwood

  • The perfect place.

    The perfect place.

    Isn’t it funny
    how the things
    we want, but
    don’t get
    lead us exactly
    to the perfect place?