Song of the fire

Another winter came.

A violent, white winter.

Lying on the carpet

In front of a fireplace

Listened to the tales

sang by the fire,

And she bared her soul

Not knowing that

Forever doesn’t last long…

Smallest of touches

In the end
it’s the smallest of touches that move us
in the biggest of ways
like an earthquake to the heart
in the silent darkness at the close
of our days.
It’s the slow reach of a tired foot
across the empty spaces between us,
the pull like leaves to light.
The shock of electricity and the stolen
breath when you fall asleep
touching me in the night.
In the end
it’s the shared heat of unspoken moments
the grace of skin on skin
the audible beat of your heart
like bass drums that fill with sound
the emptiness we hide ourselves in.
It’s the desperate search for fingerprints
you left behind on my flesh
the echoes of your fingers.
The frantic attempt to bathe in you
because we both know that
it’s scent alone that lingers.
In the end
it’s the glances and the grazes that change us
in ways only we can see
the eyes that lock across crowded rooms
the wordless sighs that stop the shaking
and calm our stormy seas.
It’s the single kiss on a surprised neck
and the pulse of life under lips
the goosebumps that always stay.
The roll of eyes and the inhale
because it’s the smallest of touches that move us
in the biggest way.
(Tyler Knott Gregson)

ARITMETICA DESPĂRȚIRII

“Când doi oameni care s-au iubit se despart, e ca şi cum ai rupe cifra 1 in două cifre mai mici, tot de 1, care nu îşi mai găsesc apoi locul în nicio altă numărătoare…”

(Constantin Ciuca)