Suki-chan36

My world did not tilt The first time we touched. Ironically, it was my body's collapse And a knee slammed into marble That made me reach out to you in the first place. After voicing my request to your general outline, Blurred though it was where it exceeded the frames of my glasses, You reached down, all concern and missed cues and Reassurance. I placed my hand in yours, And felt my world recentre as I rose to my feet. We lingered like that for a moment, perfectly still. I gave your hand a feather-light squeeze in thanks. You held on a heartbeat longer, And then we unlinked. It would be wrong to say that we disconnected, For something came to

In my mind, our fingers thread together Over coffee shop mugs and the hiss of steaming milk. Neither of us prefers coffee, And yet there we sit, Our easy banter gently giving way To stories and preferences and silly little details. We smile into our mugs As we drink each other in, And taste achingly familiar When the thought of farewell Overrides our sense of caution.

To conjure you Is to conjure dappled sunlight Filtering through a canopy of green. You move silently As unnamed creatures scurry and hum. You are light and shadow both. What strange magic was it That brought me to you? Your arms were warm Your embrace moss-soft As you anticipated my tears. Where others stood rooted, You held me And bound me to your heart As a lifelong friend. You make me feel Like a rare and precious flower; Like a burst of sunshine; Like a playful spring breeze. Whatever we may call ourselves, You make me feel loved.

I turn and walk From playhouse to coffeehouse, My steps growing lighter As one gap widens and another shortens. Herein lies a lad Who proudly wields a rapier wit But does not view me as his foil. Our weekly sparring sessions are characterized By a faint shimmering of synaptic electricity, My unfettered thoughts and cutting arguments hungry for the stimulation he provides. This feeling intensifies When our quips become whispers Offered in exchange for hastily muffled laughter. Tourdion, Courant, Galliard, Pavante; Shall we dance them all, my lad?

Perhaps one day you’ll find me At the bottom of your closet, Strewn amid the flotsam Of fads, fancies, and flames gone stale; But I will not wander the world for you.

Hundreds of people pass through here every day. I thought their footsteps might have worn away my memories, But I can still see the ghost Of my Welsh teaboy ashke Waiting for me in front of the Second Cup. I smile as I walk by.

I can be at ease At a black tie event, And immerse myself in the greyscale Of the professional world; But always will you see A splash of colour in my ensemble. I proudly wear my Crayola heart on my sleeve.

These urban constellations reveal A lovely portrait before my eyes: Silver bathed in nighttime gold.

I’d joked to you that true love Means being able to order wings while on a date – And, while I do still stand by that statement, I also have come to believe that a sign of true love Is when reality is far better than any dream. I nestle now into the dent you left in my pillow, Wrapping myself in the blanket we were on top of. Your lingering scent whispers at my nose, And I feel the rich music of your voice And the words it spoke Take root in the nooks and crannies of my brain. I am miraculously awake.

I do not know what I am to you - Whether I am a friend Or a memory. If you can still hear me, I want you to know That I am finally at peace.