Vintage Lollipops

She is there at your side, a faded thought like the breath of a ghost. Do you feel her? That moment between all the others  that lets you be just as you are,  just as you are meant to be.  Every petal, a whisper.  Every tear, the warmth of memory.  Let them speak to you, beloved. This is forever. Don't you see?  🌿bh

Waves From the deepest part of her ocean she rushes in like waves and disappears just as quickly. Inundating the alchemical union of souls with subtle conjuring, a ritual of senses ignites burning and drifting about the current. Through breathing walls of water and paper stars at midnight, she rushes in like waves.  🌿bh

I let these unspoken words bathe over me like a wave of petals and paper boats caressing a lazy shoreline. These troubled bones shift with our moonlight,  in the fades of this lovely deep. And I asked myself if the sand was happy when the tide rushed away.  Or if it found pleasure knowing it would always return.  🌿bh

There is moonlight in this tragedy like metal bones against the storm. Press your lips to mine  and I taste your sin,  your lies that scratch and claw the back of my throat with this disease of love. It is a curse of unsettled whispers,  and I dare stay afloat,  bathing with your demons. Come into the shadow box.  Rest with me your oblivion, your lovelorn soul, and let our skeletons dance together. 🌿 bh

For six long days she wouldn't eat, and tears of darkness plagued her sleep but blows the night wind wrought by showers, I gave her soup made fresh from flowers. I searched for you but never found, through silken skies and sullied ground and from the deep, dark lovelorn locket I found you hidden in my pocket. 🌿bh

They stood at the root of the water’s edge, staring into salty rings of white and vine, Thinking of Rachel. She died last year, when the tides were cold and weary. They won’t go there.  It didn’t seem fair to still love something so beautiful without knowing why. Tattered lace and tiny fingers rest the delicate surface that is creviced by time and wiser than yesterday.  But to love at all seemed to shift the clouds caught in current. Slowly. Softly.  Everything is plagued by the shadows of memory and smells of dusty orange peels. Four slender hands fuse the curve of skinny hip bones as a modicum of silence swallows the air with shards of patterned sunlight. “Don’t worry.” she said. “We’ll be mermaids when we grow up.” ~Bella Harris

 They stood at the root of the water’s edge, staring into salty rings of white and vine, Thinking of Rachel. She died last year, when the tides were cold and weary. They won’t go there.   It didn’t seem fair to still love something so beautiful without knowing why. Tattered lace and tiny fingers rest the delicate surface that is creviced by time and wiser than yesterday.  But to love at all seemed to shift the clouds caught in current. Slowly. Softly.   Everything is plagued by the shadows of memory and smells of dusty orange peels. Four slender hands fuse the curve of skinny hip bones as a modicum of silence swallows the air with shards of patterned sunlight. “Don’t worry.”  she said.  “We’ll be mermaids when we grow up.” ~Bella Harris