My Grandmother sings with an irish accent 
her voice warbles, wrinkly and warm
sweet as a bird's song,
and a hearth in the heart of autumn
My grandmother signs in the room next to me
as the storm hits, great gushes rattle the roof
and im distracted from the homework I should be doing,
but my grandmother's voice is earthy, 
and clear as a mountain stream, bubbling. 
 

Can I describe this thing that beats like wings

That steps with every fall of my feet

That sits in my rib cage and sings

What is this thing that flutters when I sleep?

Can I describe this thing played out in keys 

That fills my mouth with everything but words

With a breath it has brought me to my knees

What is this that has turned me to a bird?

I cannot describe it, I’m drunk on this

With every fall of your sacred limbs, Oh

I can’t stand the temptation of your kiss

And so I am far away from sorrow

Today, tomorrow, she takes my hand, and

Every pulse of my veins at her command. 


 

Hands held in tight conversation
tongue bitten in sweet concentration
Sticky piano fingers
stretched out like rainforest frogs
and my rainbow toes
pressed up against the body of the thing

Just to feel your heart beats
played out in tune
your hands weave a spell
that holds me frozen
yet makes me yearn to heard
​just to feel your candy lips 
 

Cold is your warm hand

Soft with gold and rosy cheeks

And the air is sharp

 

Morning is the bees

It is the sun in my eyes

And under blankets



 

I hold you because

Loving you is stars breathing 

Because it is now

 

I have written poems like this before
when words are hard to grasp
when feelings come in racking waves
what keep my pen from forming thoughts
that keep my mind from working right
like all my gears have rusted

I have written poems like this before
when somethings just so overwhelming
when im lovesick 
when heartbroke
when my mind refuses to cope
like I just cant draw it out 
I just cant deplete the purity of what it is 

I have written poems like this before 
a depth that can only really truly be named
with the smallest of things. 
 

You made me a beautiful thing 
Of feathers and sunlight
Just by pressing 
Your lips to my knuckles

You made me a creature of the air
Now I flit around
Head in the clouds
Just because you held my hand

You made me a bird
Made my heart flutter 
With a thousand golden wings
Just because of your arms around me 

 

I wonder if there is such a thing as too much feeling
maybe my arms ache for you too much to hold the pen

 

Today I must apologize 
for the dry summer wind 
that carried words to you from me
In outbursts of selfish misery.
Today I must apologize 
for the lovesick river waters
that curved around your tired body 
thoughtless of your hungry belly.
Today I must apologize
for the sweet singing birds
which flited gleefully bout your head
ignorant of your heart of lead.
Tonight I must apologize 
for my weeping autumn eyes
which cried to you in fits of woe 
for all you suffered some months ago.
I beg of you forgiveness please
do not hate me for this deed
for it is you my dearest love
whom I adore more than the sun.