When you first spoke you filled my halls,
Reinforced with madrigal.
I swept, I swooned, I wept, I clawed.
Well you and me, we did it all.
They come to me to take a dime
every pulse past one past mine.
And on my slab my head to toes.
The skillful hands. The hook to nose.
Calming mist, sound of rain,
bottling my strange refrain.
You can see in lined up tinctures
every thought, a blaze of pictures.
Will you see the man I am,
or the man you loved from Bellingham?
Regardless of your choice
forever hear my love my voice.
Minutes spent, our pas de deux,
softer moments, rough ones too.
Counting constellations on your face,
moving in to our first place.
Leaky sink all patter piddle,
our free bed that sunk in the middle.
Our book of love by definition
written by the traits we’re given,
mingling through calls and cues.
Practicing. Scuffing shoes.
Well our tunes they grew with age.
I don’t regret a single page.
When we’re vials behind the glass,
docked the boat, tied the mast,
left behind our chest of gold,
written word, pictures posed.
Blueprint us, not the same.
Just our house, just our frame.
But memories friends recall,
forever speak and fill our halls.
On the day the din falls flat
our frame remains a simple map.
Because in the end that’s who we are.
Some shrouded shapes, lying on a bridge, looking at the stars.
Seasinks
acraein 