They say that monstrous moments came 
    plentiful with 
    answers and that the feeble farewells 
    were just long lamentations
      of life, 
    but that’s not all that it meant, 
       all that it composed. 
  For the golden light of your eyes at 
    5am in the mornings reminded me of 
    nothing but the complacent 
    placement and 
     fingertips fine around my 
    lines. 
   Here where dedicated decisions fall 
    freely 
    from print-drawn skin 
      and mind 
       and heart, 
      I can’t help but think of  
     the beauty 
      of you. 
  And cooking and compiling confidence 
    toward a delicacy of devotion and 
     falling, fumbling, fighting, farming, 
      fornicating, fabricating, finding, 
        fearing, falling,
         finding
              forever. 
   And they say that mindless munition of 
    mural-driven morality devastates 
    daintily and daily 
     and they’re right. 
   But there was magnificence mined 
    melodically between the knuckles on your 
    hand and the darling
     detail
    in your damn 
                   lip.
They say that monstrous moments came
    plentiful with 
    answers and that the feeble farewells 
    were just long lamentations
      of life, 
    and that’s not all that it meant
       at all. 

Published by Charlotte Griffiths