Perhaps, Perhaps.

Shall you count the endless strands
that cascade past my shoulders?
Shall I trace my fingers across
your pale forehead,
down the bridge of your nose,
and over your rosy lips?

Shall you envelop me
in an embrace which
comforts and affirms?
Shall I sit upon your lap
and hum you a tune
I've never heard?

Shall you laugh at all
my subtle habits,
with pale eyes that
seem to see more
than I want you to?
Shall I beg you to sing
just because I adore
your tenor voice?

Perhaps, perhaps.
There is always a chance.
But I'd rather have
friendship
than
lose
to
romance.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2013.

Your Smoke, My Mirrors.

You're holding me back

without saying a word,

grabbing my collar

with no sound to be heard.

I feel your footsteps

as they follow mine.

You're growing closer

as seconds unwind.

I tried to leave you

in the months past,

but I can't shake you.

My mind holds fast.

Cigarettes? Whiskey?

What will it take?

My  soul is desperate 

for some time away.

I don't want to need you.

You're poison. Disease.

I don't want to care,

but to be set free.

Shadows and smoke,

they dance in my hall.

Not sure which is you,

so I run from them all.

To turn back time,

I'd give all of me.

To discover the truth,

I'd cheat and deceive.

Yet in the morning,

I know logic will reign.

'Tis better to lose

than cause me more pain.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012 .