~When Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder ~T.R.

~When beauty is in the eye of the beholder ~T.R.

excuse*

~T.R.

Where Does Poetry Come From

Where does your poetry come from, you ask. And this. This is where it comes from. From questions like this. Feel the words turn to ink in your mouth. Coat your tongue and drip onto notebook paper. Watch the ink turn into black hole droplets, and poetry my love, comes from the universes encapsulated in that darkness.

Where does your poetry come from, you ask. And then you smile. And that. That is where it comes from. It is birthed from the way the sun reflects off your teeth and eyes onto lined paper perfectly. The shadowed letters begging to be penned. Claiming they are here from the heavens and it is impossible to think otherwise.

Where does your poetry come from, you ask. And that is where it comes from. From the way every word spoken by your voice possesses a lyric like quality. A melody that sings me to sleep and wakes me gently to the sunrise. A song I cannot quite remember the words to and so I try to recall them with pen and paper and the quiet background track of your laughter set on repeat to keep me company, and jog my memory.

If I asked you to kiss me

would you do it?

Do not pretend to be shocked because we both know you felt it too. Went through it all just like I did. Even if it all happened so quickly. Too quickly. The falling in love. The falling out of it.

If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?

Rest your hand behind my ear, lean down a little farther than comfortable because youd have to. Just like I always imagined you would. Right in front of the door you met me at everyday. Without fail. To try. And try again. Where I would tell myself it was over until you showed. And i would find myself trying too. Because you made me want to.

If i asked you to kiss me, would you do it?

Call it...closure or whatever you need to be at peace with yourself when we touch but some part of me needs it. And i think you do too. Because why else can neither of us seem to ever let go? I think it is because the peices of the us that are still in love are rioting inside us. Refusing to die because they know knew we could have been something beautiful. And i know, that we do not have that kind of time anymore but

If I asked, would you kiss me?

For you. For me. For the us that was. For the us that is, still, in love, despite everything.

Would you kiss me?

Acknowledge everything we never had the chance to be?

Would you kiss me?

If I aksed?

Just because I asked?

~Saturday Afternoon Reflections ~ T.R.

I thought I loved you

And then you left

And I realized I most definitely did

~Always a little too late~ T.R.