At Last My Pen Has Found Her

She breathes soft, with parted lips,

And I'm holding her lungs

As she dreams,

Taking drags of her exhales and

Twirling her secrets with my fingers,

Conducting a ballad for ghosts.

And the rhythm matches her pulse.

And I can't stop taking shots

That smell like her hair,

closing my eyes around the memory of this.

Trying to zipper her heartbeats into me.

If only secrets could fall dead like fall,

I would walk walk

On the voices of nightmares,

And squish fireflies into her hair,

so her dreams can make the light

Flicker.

But the strands grazed by my touch

hide even the brightest of dawns.

And the morning will erase it all.

And show the guts matted on her skull.

And when it rains, I'll say a prayer,

For innocence as it's washed

Into the dirt,

Like moonlight turned

To threads,

Streaking across the body of earth

As though to stitch the wound.

There will be

A canyon reflecting her face,

A reminder for angels that it is possible

To

Heal.

And I'm drunk

On the tears she plucked from her heart,

tripping like those who sleep in alleys,

And I will join them.

And live off

The electronic clicks she makes

When she blinks.

Because my hands

Crave that moment

Of eyelids eclipsing sun,

Of lashes that blanket

Full moons

And drown the sound of wolves

As they hold tongue,

Standing in awe

Of her footprints, deciding

that they followed the wrong trail,

Chasing the kill,

And missing flower.

I stand unsurprised,

Caressing the shadow

Of her,

As she replaces dawn

So I will build a pulpit in my heart

And tell the tale of fingertip

And flesh until I believe

That her outline

Makes perfect sense

Of the havoc,

Chapter and verse pinpointing treasure.

Like coordinates.

And me,

Sailing to discover

places lost long ago.

Where my death becomes a rudder

And guides me past the tides

holding her,

As all my intention

snakes along the shore,

hoping to pull her into me,

That there would be no blade of sand

That separates,

And if only for a while

my current would carry

her weightless into the deep.

And our love will salt the sea,

and she will break the fangs of sharks

to a dust she'll wear as glitter,

and we will dig beneath the ocean

and I will shatter coral and stone

to clear the currents,

and watch my blood become clear

as it fades like smoke into the liquid.

And we will chew the rust of treasure

and gold

as decay creeps like mercy

over the surface of coin and crown,

because down here,

everything will fade beneath her,

and her splendor

will make every sunken ship

forfeit hope of rescue,

for who would dig further

than her reflection?

So I will sever the neck

that is not there,

and orphan the octopus

for need of ink dark enough

to make a map,

that her eyes would see the path to shore.

and the massacre will lead her to safety.

And I will drag her beyond horizon

to a place where rescue is impossible.

Where she will tame volcanoes with a smirk,

where she will bleed the magic of paradise

like a vein needing rest,

an undoing of logic into mayhem.

I will trap that conquered earth

into my heart,

she will resurrect sand to stone

by merely looking,

I only hope,

to be caught within the gaze.

And when it's too dark to see,

I'll connect the dots hanging from heaven

as stars that dangle

like a necklace around an angels throat,

and follow her freckles

into the sky,

to a place where everything

reminds me of her face.

She'll pretend she doesn't notice,

but I will rip the canopy of clouds

until she has room to stand above it,

and see,

the shadow of her is a premonition

of all that shines.

And from this perch,

she will rain down love with furry,

and scratch the dirt with empathy,

and I will stand in awe

as all her prayers change

from vapor to concrete.

And I'll become a scribe,

using my skin in place of parchment,

writing the saga of her soul,

where no beating chest fails,

and the screams of devils flee

the halos raining down from her eyelids.

And death would beg for mercy,

fearful of a world that bends

beyond reason and doubt.

And we will follow her tears

back into the soil,

like starting over,

and her footprints will give way to dawn,

and she will tell the broken

how blemish became beacon,

and every little belly will feast

on ink and blood and broken soil,

and every mother would know

the secrets that pierce heaven,

and every babe would drink

like tomorrow is certain,

and every father would rise

like blood in water until the smoke

became bread,

and she would carve her tombstone

with prayers,

telling of a journey that took her

beyond the brink of death

and life,

into an abyss where heaven

waits in such a heart as hers.

And I will hang my sins until they die,

until every attempt to breathe

reminds me of her sleeping

soft within my arms,

dreaming of a day when all these words

awaken and her hope becomes reality.

I have no knowledge of what will wake

with us in the morning,

but I pretend that whatever it is,

will in some way look like her.

But she breathes soft,

and my hands are full

and my eyes are losing focus,

music beginning to fade within me,

I know the world inside her

will fall before she wakes.

But she's talking in her sleep,

and I hear it all, like learning a language

I'm not ready for.

And soon, her dreams will become braille

and I'll reach for it as one blind,

and my hands will trace her cheeks

and try to learn the pattern of her lips

as they make a map bright enough

to lead me into safety.