Fumbled emotions

 

I fumble with my words

like they are dripping hot coals

over my fingers, I juggle them,

keeping the direct heat

dancing away from me,

but each contact

sears a part of them

to my stripped skin, like a tattoo

or a broken window

to look within.

A letter, a meaning,

a feeling imparted in

the way that they sting. The way they sing.

 

Because the words

I want to say are

that you are beautiful,

in the way a summer

sun kisses the

morning sky every day.

You are a special type of unique.

A one of a kind,

My kind of heart, a heart that

takes me flying,

and to me you are the clouds

that rip apart, delivering

lightning bolts to my heart.

 

So I keep letting my

singed fingers catch,

then release.

Catch,

then release.

A smooth transition

between war and peace.

As my mind is

at constant battle with itself.

The soot on my skin,

fingerprints my thoughts

on every surface I brush,

whilst the searing heat

leaves a scorch mark

upon the sun in a blush.

Dust covers the pages

of my note book,

and my tears run black

under the light of dawn.

 

Because the words

I hold within me, I hold tightly

like I wish to be holding you, for

they are honest and true.

The war in my brain

is just fireworks expressing

their joy at your flame,

and I'd hold the hot coals

like the fires of home,

 because

you are beautiful.

Not just to the eye, but to the mind,

to the heart and to the soul,

to the skin and to the bone.

You are like home, a place

I wish to never leave.