Stepping on St Augustine Two Months Past February.

He's

sorry

for what he's done....

he's

apologetic, but the moon

she's crumbled in my palms and drenched

in my tears.

I rub my hands across my jeans and shoot stars across my ripped up, tarnished wardrobe

maybe he'll witness me before he closes his eyes

maybe he'll blind himself with tears...

I'm

kicking tomorrow off my feet so I can walk, barefoot, backwards and tattered over yesterday

and March burns the soles of my feet, I begged for quicksand, I begged for February twentieth...

he held my hand, he held me, he placed his promises on my finger and GOD

how I wished...

my nails weren't broken, how I wished

I

was prettier....

He whispers through handwriting that breathes in the dark..

he begs me to open up to July, to a year later, to

HIM...

and these tears repeat in circles, I

WANT

to believe his truth, I want it to replace my broken heartbeat, I want it to save me and smudge

moonlight

across my smile.

COME BACK

I beg to this irritable silence...

as if he has a choice now

come back..please,

I say

it's already 2010 and this game has been played since...

I

was 29, my eyes have blinked for you for years now....

PLEASE

stop...

cry us another August and place a halt on your mistakes...

April's cruel, I think, with her distance and control over my decisions, Florida tilts to the west and I slip, a little, beneath the gifts the sky has given me...

I'm debating...

washing these blue jeans, of tarnishing the moon with Monday...

they're fraying and decorating unshaven knees, but he'd kiss them

he'd kiss my negligence and I'd

be able to forgive his mistakes and the abhorrent bruises that brought us here...

Whisper me St Augustine

and February

Twentieth

I say...

as I twist his promises around my finger...

let me...

hear

your

voice.

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

What drifting dreams, of seasons and sorrows, of wanting for what was.. what could have been. This is absolutely beautiful... You have a gift.