#anithesis

Instant stream counts down Five, four, three; I hesitate— Two, one, can’t escape

How sly is the curvature of your upper lip, The dip between your forehead creases, The high cheekbone, square jawline— If you were a sculpture, darling, I’d carve you out of ice, Because water understands That sometimes life ripples, bubbles surface, and nothing Is permanent; People try to keep you in an icebox Because they don’t want change, But you weren’t built to be an immobile glacier— We were designed to melt, To have our facets displayed, From the frosted windowpanes inside our minds Before they slipslide; If beauty was so important we wouldn’t have souls— I know you have said You are afraid to thaw, But winter doesn’t last forever

The poem I said I would never write Is composed of words I have never said; It lies dormant, As though it will be an encompassment Of my entire existence, As though it is waiting— I’d like to believe that we are all composed of poems, And though perhaps it seems impossible to re-create memories, Maybe we all draw blank cards, We all have moments Where we feel spectacularly empty And no longer desire to tell anyone our stories; I think that someday The train will arrive at the platform, And I’ll be sitting with a notebook Filled with all the stories I’ve never told, And in that moment the desire to write Will leave me

Fire ashes popcracking, logs burning slowly, simmering, Hissing steam rises up into the night sky, Scarring the Milky Way in a pale veil— Bright flashes from white dwarf stars decomposing Schizophrenic brushstrokes on the eyelids, Seizure shaking rage and The jangle of discorded keys black-and-white mixes Maybe the pianos were built to play symphonies, But here they’re cold harsh melodies, Sticking to the insides of your ears, Grating arthritic joints on the sharp keys: Every time we speak