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She sleeps just beyond the lace curtain, just beyond the window sill, just beyond my grasp. She sleeps and doesnt see me anymore, in her white nightgown with her brothers nearby, and the dog never barks when I come to the glass.
She grows in her sleep, and I come less often, as my enchantment fades like the sparkle in the fairy dust that I blew on their wishes, fanning dreams into flames that burst into wings that lifted them from the floor, from their beds.
They came with me, once, and we soared above the smokestacks and clock towers and grownups; we left the grownups behind except one, but thats a different story. And when she grabbed my hand as we passed a star I looked into her eyes and saw a different version of myself reflected there, with combed hair and proper black slacks and a white shirt buttoned up my neck. And thats when I knew she was going back, despite her stories and her laugh and her smile; despite the beautiful
Sea meets Sky
The ship rolled over the waves, rippled in
your black suit, pooled in the corner of my eye;
millions of flowers breathe with the foam, breathe
in and out; I cant.
You always said each petal
was a poem awaiting, waiting to happen;
and I dont read poetry, but youre surrounded
I wonder where you are in their faces, why
I cant find you in your brothers freckles,
the way your cousin ducks his head; show me
ticket stubs, boardwalks, and kisses.
See if their voices can carry your scent,
make the horizon line disappear into the crease
of your brow, as you concentrate; I
couldn't concentrate on anything but you.
I dont like sheets, but I lift them up
and over your eyelids anyway;
now there will only be photographs, and
the flowers dont like it anymore than I do.
I asked for your poetry collection. I know,
I know--I dont like poetry. And I know,
your sister probably woul
after our collision
After our collision at the laundromat, I swing my legs over stone walls at the wharf. I listen as the screaming gulls throw the insults I threw at you back in my face, again and again, with the sting of their sharp claws, and I wonder when they lost their language. I wonder when, what date and time, man finally took the beauty of their songs and turned it into strung sentences of panic, pain, and hate.
I wonder when the waves became numb; I wonder how they became so numb as to let people take the true songs away from their white trumpeters. I wonder why the ocean is so calm, so patient, so forgiving, even as oil drums spill and sink and kill.
When I leave the graveyard of old wooden docks their skeletons follow me, the bones sticking straight up out of the water, worn by wind and sea, as I drift back into the bustling hornets nest.
I have to wonder--am I necessary? Im just one more worker bee; I can claim n
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More