woman – Page 2 – part-broken, part-whole

To move past love, you must become a polyglot

The poem hunter

By the end of some days I hunt words for you. Small gifts at the parting of the day. Not unlike the occasional dead bird made as a peace offering from the pet cat. So I look for poems. I look for verses or passages. I look for pages in between the binds of books….

You return at impossible times

The memory of you remains an ever-fixed mark on all I see. The image of your face recalls itself with delicately woven fibers, patterning the windows in my house and the frozen glimpses in hallways, pathways, byways. I cannot look at my own face in the mirror without seeing your fingerprints stamped upon my neck. Tiny…

You could be my triple word score

To the girl of her words, two letters divide us. And another four unite us. Those letters spell out to reveal the word, “lover”. Knowing this changes everything. It changes this letter. Let me begin again. Beloved, I know your name and I know you by your words. But you are still a stranger. You…

You cannot forget what is beautiful

I met her just twice. Light banter, heavy thumps of heart beat. Wit. Candour. Verbal jousts. I always win those. And everything that follows, I lose. There wasn’t going to be any more. There couldn’t possibly be. But I always wish and hope in the bleakest of bets that a tide may turn for once…

Again

Whenever you ask the rhetorical question of, “where do I begin?”, the answer is almost always and immediately, “at the start.” But what if you do not remember when it all started, or how? What if you cannot recall the way things began to fall apart in a way that felt as if it were…

Red is another name for you

She wears crimson like it was made just for her. The other women want their money back now But it’s fine. We’ll pay them with the million we got from the way you look today, baby.