Young Writers Society

I always told myself to stop dreaming

I’ll provide the setting for the crash
Here we are – both of us,
Standing at two points of an axis
Exchanging causalities
Amongst hungry people,
Pouring over plates as you
Pour out my wine

You talk, your brown hair
Italian and dirt-colored
An earth experience hand in hand
With a white-eyed girl
I admit that you are a man,
The one flitting through my dreams
For many years now – a butterfly
Now immersed in reality
You appreciate adventure
You have pleasure in one hand,
Dealing it to me for my soul –
A fragile mess of rose petals
Between your soil fingers

Don’t look down

With a flash of the wrist,
You break out the tumblers
And shove it into my hands
I smile, charmed (charred)
By your unorthodox magic
Eye-to-eye, dance and soul,
I see the blazing ardor,
Glimmer, arc across your pupils
About to whisper across our table –
“Let’s spell it out, it’s love…”
You hush me

Fingers quick, the seconds quicker
You sweep from off your own feet
And touch electric fingers
With a goddess,
Who’s striking in your picture frame
Picturesque in moonshine

Her

Here’s the crash – titanic
I’ve toppled off the steeple,
You’ve let loose of my waist
I’ve fallen out of your arms,
To the concrete steps of church
From off your piano seat,
An exile from the dreamland,
A neverland of wine and coffees
From which I never thought
I’d need a ticket back

Cold, your wine’s made me drunk
Hung over, here’s the bathroom
Where I poured my soul out
From my mouth
All the while crying,
Droplets in the basin
My petals have been flushed,
Just like a sewer – you’ve pulled my heart strings
Straight from my throat,
Out of my chest –
My breath still lingers on my breast…

My quantum coffee,
My primavera,
My café turned to vineyard
In the pair trees of the spring
I’m bleeding all my liquids out
A drizzle on the tiled floor
I’m heartbroken, I’m desolate
Melancholy and overcast

In shambles by the tinkling
Of the café door’s silver bell