Let Me In
His name was FIRE
kindling my soul
whimpering at my heart
Oh, let me in.
I need to carve him
into my very being
Oh, let me in!
vanish in smoke
Oh, let me in!
Oh, let me in!
Soot covers me
smolders and flares
I am reduced
he will not
let me in!
south of nowhere
Two miles south of nowhere there is a field of dying things,
silent save for the rasp of autumn grasses as they crash to the ground.
There is a girl here, too,
running a pink tongue along rusting guitar strings,
all ripped jeans and cloudy skies.
A man's name is tattooed across her clavicle,
blue ink pooling at the place her breath catches.
His name was Agony and he taught her to love,
to hold kitchen knives to heartstrings and pluck them like a symphony,
dancing barefoot on barnwood floors
until the splinters left scars.
His love was one of honey and shrapnel,
the kind of beauty that only comes with pain-
but the world is growing dimmer
and come dusk
she lies alone
in this place of dying things.
Call me Someone.
“He claims he doesn’t want a partner, but, never mind that. He’ll get used to you... eventually...” Commander McCox said, causing a weary smile to creep over Constance’s face.
“He...?” Constance half whined. She had her share of male partners before Sarah. Many of them seemed to have unreciprocated romantic feelings towards her, and that always made things quite awkward.
“Yes. He,” McCox nodded, “But, don’t worry. He’s not like the rest. Nothing like anybody I’ve ever known. For sure.”
Constance looked around and then back at McCox as if waiting for more, but the commander only raised his eyebrows in an ambiguous way that didn’t indicate whether his comment meant her new partner was good different, or bad different.
“What’s his name?” Constance asked skeptically, narrowing her eyes.
The commander emitted an unsettling laugh.
“He’s tall, slick black hair, fair skin, and dark green eyes,” McCox said after his fit, “Oh yeah, and he has one of those British accents.”
″....Not a name, but, okay...” Constance blinked in confusion, “Where is he?”
Suddenly, Commander McCox’s eyes shifted up to his office entrance causing the young woman to pivot in her seat. There was a gentleman standing there, but he quickly stepped back and continued walking down the hallway. Constance presumed it was because he saw that McCox had company.
“That was him,” McCox said, “You’d better go catch him.”
Very confused, Constance rose from her seat, smoothed out her black skirt, adjusted her blouse, and ran after the mysterious man. From behind, she observed his fine black suit and how it fit his tall stature. Her eyes wandered up to his medium-length, silky, black hair. She took a moment to stop, shut her eyes, and take a breath, before sprinting after him again. Even with her heels clicking against the floor as she gained on him, his strides were consistent. He didn’t speed up, pause, or even look back.
“Hi!” she called out cheerily as she nearly caught up to the man, “Hello. Hi!”
Constance aligned herself at his side and attempted to keep in step with him as she struggled to even out her breaths. The man did not look her way at all but proceeded forward at his normal pace.
“Excuse me. Hi,” she huffed, leaping in front of his path. At this action, he finally decided to stop. His deep, malachite eyes stared down into her bright browns, then traveled down and up again. He did not seem amused.
“Hello. My name is Constance Harbor,” she said, extending her hand, “I’m going to be your new partner.”
The man looked down at her caramel fingers and back into her eyes.
“Obligatory associate,” he scoffed, ignoring her hand to turn aside and continue his trek towards who knows where.
Constance’s brows furrowed as she turned to follow him.
“I am aware they are forcing me to bring you along to the Ambassador’s Summit,” he said, still not making eye contact.
“I suppose....” she replied, not knowing what else to say.
She followed him out of the building and into a sleek, black, luxury car. As he started the ignition and pulled off, she glanced around curiously at the cleanliness of the vehicle’s interior.
″...So....” she droned, awkwardly breaking the silence, “My name is Constance.”
“Already noted,” he answered.
Constance sat in silence for a moment expecting him to provide his own.
“And your name...?” she asked when he didn’t.
The man’s lips were drawn into a tight line as he concentrated on his driving.
“It isn’t important,” he said finally.
“Not important?” Constance breathed a laugh, “We’re partners!”
“OBLIGATORY ASSOCIATES,” he corrected, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Obligatory associates,” she repeated, “But, still. What am I supposed to call you?”
“Don’t,” he smirked, shooting a quick, sly look at her.
“Don’t call you...” Constance shook her head, “Well then, mister, what am I supposed to refer to you as?”
The man stayed silent for the rest of the ride. Constance reluctantly followed suit, fidgeting with her fingers on the dashboard until they arrived at the airport.
“Someone,” he finally said as he opened his door, “Call me Someone.”
Constance stared forward for a minute, analyzing the absurdity of what she had just been told before quickly exiting the vehicle herself and running to catch up with him.
the name on my lips is
a clutteredhuman centipedecontortion of identity
a parent calling for their child, stringing together siblingsyllablesoup
a name no longer separate from me/you/him/her
-the whispers in the night
-hands (grasping) bodies
-voices jumbled chorus of confusion
She says your name,
the name on my lips,
and you burst forth
cleaved, cut into clear consciousness
I see you
A stranger walking past with her
You are what growing up is supposed to look like:
like the future just beyond my reach
like your name on my lips once more, at last.
Bittersweet in its reality.
Heather of the Moors
Her name was Heather, like the heather that was scattered endlessly across the moors.
The moors of Dartmoor called to her both in her waking hours and her dreams. Each night they beckoned her as she slept in the comfortable bed that had belonged to her parents. And each morning as she awoke, the smell of heather and a fine mist seemed to permeate her room, although she knew well enough that it was merely the remnants of dreams that lingered so.
Born in the year of 1934, Heather had been named for the lovely flowering plant that grew upon the beautiful, haunting moors of Dartmoor, and as a result, she longed always to be near them even though she was now thirty-eight years of age. The moors were a part of her, and she, a part of them. It was as if the two were conjoined, co-existing. Their beauty filled her with a purpose and determination, and her heart was most at peace when she was near them.
This early September day, she was packing the same thing she packed every Saturday. Inside the old wicker basket, she carefully placed a small blanket, a book, an egg sandwich, a pear, two wine glasses, and of course, a lovely bottle of French Merlot. Although she took the trip to the moors alone, she always packed the spare glass in case anyone came along in need of refreshment.
Despite the temperature of nearly 21°C, Heather pulled a knitted sweater from where it hung upon a hook near the door and exited the stone cottage. Sometimes, it became quite chilly as she lingered in the afternoons, reluctant to leave as she read.
The walk was a goodly distance, and a bit later, she cleared the moor’s hill and inhaled of the lavender colored heather that was scattered across its lush greenery. It was a wild and perfect arrangement of nature painted upon the hillside. She always thought to herself that no artist could truly capture the actual beauty. She knew this to be undeniably true because the moors’ beauty was something one inherently felt in addition to what one saw.
Placing the blanket on the ground, she carefully unpacked the basket. Choosing to partake of the wine before eating, she slowly pulled the cork from the bottle and poured herself a glass. Immediately and despite the overwhelming, earthy scent of the heather, she could smell the blackcurrant and black cherries infused in the Merlot. As she tasted of the wine’s rich and velvety sweetness, she sighed, enjoying the sensuous warmth that invaded her body. Picking up the book, she read several chapters before pausing to eat a bite of the food.
As she finished the sandwich and continued to sip her wine, he appeared in the distance just as he always did each time she came to the moors. She lifted her hand to wave at him in greeting, and he responded with a slight nod of his head, never venturing any closer. From what she could make out about him despite the distance he was from her, he was tall and slender with dark, wind-tousled hair, and he always wore riding breeches and boots along with a jacket that she imagined was a woolen, houndstooth one. He carried a riding crop even though he had no horse. He made an attractive figure, at least from afar, and she wished that he would draw closer and introduce himself. After all, they were nearly friends as they had seen each other on the moor each weekend for over a year now.
She watched as he disappeared over the crest of the moor. There would be no introductions today despite the desire for such by her.
A bit later and after finishing her glass of Merlot, she placed the book she’d been reading on the blanket and stretched to lie down beside it. Her dreams had been particularly intrusive the previous night, and she had tossed and turned, not sleeping well. Yawning, it was not long before her body relaxed. Lulled to sleep by the wine, the wind, and the redstart birds flitting across the skies above, she slept for a long while.
“Miss. Are you unwell?” a deep voice invaded her afternoon slumber.
Heather reluctantly stirred and opened her eyes. Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise as she realized he was kneeling over her, obvious concern etched across his handsome face.
Quickly she lifted herself up and replied. “Oh, my goodness. I am perfectly fine. I am so sorry that I gave you a fright.” She did not realize the lovely picture she made. Her red hair had fallen loose from the bun at the nape of her neck and was now in charming disarray as it fell about her shoulders. Her cheeks, slightly reddened by the wind and sun, were flushed with a soft, pink hue.
He leaned back on his haunches and smiled at her. It was a beautiful smile. “I’m so glad,” he said, the thickness of his accent marking his words. She noticed that, while English, he had a bit of a stronger accent than her own. Without a doubt, the timbre of his voice was both alluring and melodic. Was she still asleep and dreaming? If so, she hoped she would not wake for a while.
The dawning awareness of embarrassment flooded her, making her cheeks a brighter shade of pink. “I’m so sorry. I am fine – I promise,” she managed a smile in response to his.
“Aye, I can see that you are,” he said with a touch of humor in his green eyes. They were the color of the sea and penetrating in their depths. She thought to herself that she’d enjoy finding what secrets lurked therein, and her cheeks grew pinker still at the thought.
Heather hurriedly pulled the extra wine glass from the basket. “Where are my manners? Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked, mentally wincing at the nervousness in her voice.
“Most certainly. Thank you,” he said and settled down to take a seat beside her. “’Tis a most lovely day for a picnic, is it not?”
Heather nodded and shyly looked up at him through her lashes as she poured the wine. Thank heavens she’d packed that extra glass.
He graciously accepted the offered drink of Merlot and smiled as he said, “My name is Colin. And it’s nice to meet you, although I feel as though we’re already acquainted.”
Heather settled into her spot on the blanket and grasped her glass. She smiled at him, a lovely smile, nearly as intoxicating as the fruity scent of the wine. She was more than delighted to at long last meet the stranger whom she’d only previously admired from afar.
“My name is Heather,” she told him.
“Indeed? Heather as in the beautiful heather that grows all about us on the moors? How enchanting.”
Her smile grew as she sipped her wine. She noticed that his clothing was not something that the average gentleman would wear; it was dated, but somehow, it suited him quite well. She thought that he must wear the old clothing on his long walks in case he dirtied it beyond repair.
Heather eyed the riding crop. “Have you lost your horse?” she teased.
“Aye, but I’m sure she’s awaiting my arrival back at the stable. She’s a bit of a spirited, strong-minded one.”
Heather immediately wondered where he lived – she’d never really thought about it before. He must live nearby, but she wouldn’t ask such things of him now. At least not while their acquaintance was so new.
Colin sipped his wine, his green gaze rarely leaving Heather. She was keenly aware of his regard, and where she’d thought the wine had warmed her before, she now knew that this man’s gaze held much more intensity and warmth. Indeed, he was akin to a full bottle of the luscious Merlot, invading her senses and making her acutely aware of all things.
The two continued to chat a bit although a calming silence settled between them, and they found a peace in each other’s companionship with little need to speak. As the afternoon passed, they drank the entire bottle of wine, and Heather found herself smiling more than she had in the long, preceding months since her mother’s death. There was a vitality that seemed to emanate from Colin, and she was fast growing accustomed to it.
“As much as I don’t want to, I’m afraid I have to be going,” he said much later.
“Of course,” Heather said, though reluctant for their interlude to come to an end. “Will I see you again?” she asked.
“That, my dear, is completely up to you,” Colin replied.
Heather gave him a perplexed look. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean.”
“Do you not know?” he asked, his green eyes never straying from her blue gaze.
She slowly shook her head. “No, I am confused,” she admitted.
“You beckoned me from the depths of Morpheus, and I eagerly complied with your summons, enjoying our interlude more than you shall ever know. I am but a dream and a figure from the past, always searching for something although I’ve not known what it was until today.” His glance intensified as he smiled and added, “I thought my search hopeless, but now I think I have been enlightened. I’ve been roaming the moors all this time in search of you, my dear, sweet Heather.”
Heather shivered as her mind searched for words. A chill invaded her body even though the temperature had not yet dropped enough to put one in the air. Was this man truly a figure from her dreams and from the past? Was he a ghostly apparition or a manifestation of something her heart desired? Either way and whatever the truth, she wished never to awaken.
Amazement clearly reflected on her face, she finally regained a measure of composure and spoke, her voice only above a whisper as a sweet smile hovered on her lips. “Well, if it’s my choice, we will assuredly meet again, Colin. I shall consider next Saturday to be our second date. I hope you can make it.”
Colin’s smile broadened, and he winked at her. “Aye, sweet Heather, I know I can. Until then, I’ll see you in your dreams, my sweet,” he said as he stood and picked up his riding crop.
Heather watched as Colin walked away. He turned to glance back at her every few steps, as if he, too, did not wish to leave. Eventually, as he neared the spot where he had always stood from afar, his visage slowly grew more faint until he eventually disappeared completely before crossing the crest of the moor.
It was true. She felt it with every beat of her heart. She had beckoned this handsome, kind man to fill her lonely days upon the moors, and she was not sorry that he had answered. Indeed, she was pleased beyond measure that he had come to her and only wondered why it had taken so long. Slowly, she repacked the picnic basket and headed home, a lovely smile upon her face all the while.
Stopping along the way, she picked several stalks of the earthy smelling heather. They would make a lovely addition to the antique vase beside her bed. And each time she looked at them, she would see his face and feel the intensity in his eyes. It would seem like an eternity before next Saturday, but she knew she would assuredly see him again. She felt it in her soul just as she felt the life and breath of the moors. Indeed, she already knew that he, like her, was a part of the moors she so loved.
It would be a long while until next weekend, but she would patiently wait. The arms of Morpheus had never been so appealing before, and tonight she could not wait to find him in her dreams yet again.
He's name was Danger, yet i found myself pulled to him.
Nothing with him was ever what it seemed.
Laughs were unexpected but so was the heartach that broke me down to my core.
Yet, when the tears ended I would end up wanting more...
More of him, the boy whose eyes hid millions of secrets, and could look straigth through me.
Yet, still in the most uninviting moments, there was no other place I would rather be.
Twisted around he's pinky, wipped that what my friends called it but I would protest agaisnt it, denial!
But the sad truth was, the moment I found myself alone with my thoughts, all I could think is 'you Liar'