Heart to Heart

in honor of Valentines Day….a poems of hearts and love…..the gifts that keep on giving…of a different kind. heh heh…..

 

 

Heart to Heart ~

 

I wanted a heart and I wanted it to be yours,

yours by definition means it belongs to you,

so if one was gifted and you had it,

it could be mine,

you might share,

and the beating of it would make us smile as it drummed softly through our conversations and night time tooth brushings and TV watching,

and love,

love making up, 

love made up…? What? 

Never mind.

And I took as many hearts as I dared and left them, 

but you didn’t reciprocate,

you didn’t give them back,

and the stains were the only thing left as your porch grew crowded with people and uniforms and yellow flutterings.

And suddenly any walks I took with you,

weren’t.

You changed your paths,

and your times,

and the places you (we) had coffee,

and the letters I know you meant for me in the cans outside your back door

were gone.

But I knew…

I knew we were stronger and love like ours would never die,

and it was jealous people trying to come between us.

They didn’t understand

that we had other, 

higher,

ways to communicate.

Like when I read the words, 

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

 I knew, you see,

 that it was a message from you,

and I wanted to give you a sign,

 give you hope and support, give you 

heart

to go on and help you keep us safe and safe and

veryverysafesafe,

locked up tight,

so that we could exchange our hearts

in peace.

 

I wanted a heart and I wanted it to be yours, 

and I have finally found the perfect one,

and I have it in a secret box in a secret room in a secret place,

and you can give it to me,

and we can be heart to heart,

together forever.

And the stains will fade eventually 

and the garden will bloom in memory 

of our perfect

giving

beating

love.

 

Soon….

 

©jayetomas2017

Advertisements

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s