She was...........
.....is a memory
that does not fade between blinks.
An affirmation
rather than an apparition
that dreams can be touched.
In silence even,
I note the inflection in her voice
when she speaks out after me;
quickening my blood
whilst giving priority to my abrupt halt.
There is no folly.
No feint.
No fault to her embrace.
Still admittedly confused
and sufficiently embarrassed
to have a face slick with tears
most times when she appears.
She is my portion of truth
encased in a semi sweet
measure of chocolate
for the service of disproving
that notion of foreboding
that always accompanies uncertainty.
Most certainly,
happy thoughts are
sought after
and fought for
and taught for the purpose of aspiration
but my inclination
toward her
carries more familiarity than unknown intrigue.
She swings and spins and slides about
and her scent transforms
that tinge of doubt
into a swell of impatience.
I breathe in
and am left anxious
for the exhale is far longer
than I believe it should be.
To a degree,
what I see
is nowhere near as mouth moistening
as what I breathe in
when she gleefully twirls and spins
in front of me again.
Again........
.........again would take forever
and I still wouldn't forget her.
No forfeiture
of the rich and sweet
brush of unlikely winter bloom
that takes expanse in my lungs
after claiming the entire room.
Below
or behind
she would sometimes loom
before lending her fingers
to me
like meals were to be replaced
by her taste.
Trace of fruit first cut.
Freshly sliced
then iced to mellow.
As sweet as sticky...
glistening.
Robust.
Fragrant flavor a rush of lust
indicative of hunger pains.
All but plain coincidence.
Famished state sated progressively
like that of slow burning incense
on the mantle.
Dared to handle another portion.
Gorging.
Greedy.
Fed me like needy passersby.
I'm just glad I caught her eye.
If description were capable enough,
I'd compare her in detail
to the best thought
one would hope to remember
and lament over if ever forgotten.
A fountain overflowing
past proximity
with energy rarely conceived
in base understanding.
From where I'm usually standing,
to be overwhelmed is natural;
questioning the actual
for the sake of disbelief.
Hard to imagine that which
once was chief in my consciousness
ever being a compliment
to the presence she now claims
alone.
Fit for a throne
but more endearing Indian style
atop my pile of veiled
yet astonished thoughts
seemingly escaping the realm of secrecy.
That vision clings to me
like I could touch
what eyes could see.
One should be so fortunate.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
and her scent transforms
that tinge of doubt
into a swell of impatience.
I breathe in
and am left anxious
for the exhale is far longer
than I believe it should be.
To a degree,
what I see
is nowhere near as mouth moistening
as what I breathe in
when she gleefully twirls and spins
in front of me again.
Again........
.........again would take forever
and I still wouldn't forget her.
No forfeiture
of the rich and sweet
brush of unlikely winter bloom
that takes expanse in my lungs
after claiming the entire room.
Below
or behind
she would sometimes loom
before lending her fingers
to me
like meals were to be replaced
by her taste.
Trace of fruit first cut.
Freshly sliced
then iced to mellow.
As sweet as sticky...
glistening.
Robust.
Fragrant flavor a rush of lust
indicative of hunger pains.
All but plain coincidence.
Famished state sated progressively
like that of slow burning incense
on the mantle.
Dared to handle another portion.
Gorging.
Greedy.
Fed me like needy passersby.
I'm just glad I caught her eye.
If description were capable enough,
I'd compare her in detail
to the best thought
one would hope to remember
and lament over if ever forgotten.
A fountain overflowing
past proximity
with energy rarely conceived
in base understanding.
From where I'm usually standing,
to be overwhelmed is natural;
questioning the actual
for the sake of disbelief.
Hard to imagine that which
once was chief in my consciousness
ever being a compliment
to the presence she now claims
alone.
Fit for a throne
but more endearing Indian style
atop my pile of veiled
yet astonished thoughts
seemingly escaping the realm of secrecy.
That vision clings to me
like I could touch
what eyes could see.
One should be so fortunate.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
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