she is writing more than me

she is writing more than me

A Poem by m.s.early

She is writing more than me. 

Putting pen to paper with breathy words carried by the wind in her memories. 

I can hear them, her thoughts, 
like a steady wind rolling down a mountain 
and filling a valley, 
finding a nearby village and bringing leaves like scattered recollections 
through cobbled streets, until they echo in lonesome moans 
through the alleys of her heart; 
those long alleys where our lives collided, 
and became a unforgettable soreness. 

The waning breath, 
berthed from beneath her rising breasts 
and escaping her pale, ripe lips once enjoyed whispering my name 
and watching those breathy words rise like waves 
and crash against my spirit, compelling me to kiss. 

But now while her feathered verbs float from clouds to sea  
she will never again write of me. 
The gift of her breeze is travelling in forests, 
between trees that are no longer meant for me.

© 2017 m.s.early



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Reviews

Beautiful and sad...........

Posted 1 Month Ago


It is such a rush to see you writing again, Matt!

Posted 2 Months Ago


m.s.early

2 Months Ago

Thank you Kelly.
I really enjoyed this poem. You took me with you on a real life journey of memory and being forgotten. The word soft with a hardness of real life. Thank you my friend for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

Posted 2 Months Ago



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Added on August 5, 2017
Last Updated on August 7, 2017

Author

m.s.early
m.s.early

VA



About
I live in a backwoods bumpkin area with crazy white people that drink and cuss too much while performing regular maintenance on John Deere and Kabota tractors. Plows as sharp as scimitars slice the gr.. more..

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A Poem by m.s.early





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