poetry

I Crumble Into You. {poetry}

If only you knew

all of the poems that exist

solely because I  cannot

forget your smell,

mists wrapping

around glacial mountains,

over-ripe coconuts

sitting in the sun.

My thoughts always

return to you,

fumbling drunk-blind

in your car,

hands pressing

into the rough fabric

of your jeans

while the mountains,

ever maternal,

look on,

not judging.

Wise sentinels

standing erect

until they are called

to crumble

into the sea.

I crumble into you.

Your voice,

your hands,

they’re shaking.

I cast my spell the way

you have cast yours

and we are locked

in a cloud of primal

enchantments that have

transcended time,

and there is no

name for what

we have become.

I pretend not to know

your body as

I know my body,

or your hands as

I know my hands,

or your heart as

I know my heart.

I am Judas in the garden.

The betrayer of wild

and holy things,

and you are the owl

with your culling call,

and your knowing eyes.

Sometimes I still find you

in the ether of a dream,

your laughter lulling

me from lands beyond

the veil of knowing.

I still find you floating

in the wind,

residual energy

from time gone by.

Where did I know you before?

In what world

did we melt together?

Deep in my marrow

you rise like the tide,

like glaciers tucked

between mountains,

like stories that tell themselves.

You swirl through

my universe like galaxies,

adding beauty to

something seemingly infinite.

The heavens cannot compare

to your vastness,

the Milky Way lives

in your sternum.

I’ve looked down your throat

and I’ve seen our future,

as if you had

swallowed the world.

There are some days

when I think that you

will consume me,

I will no longer

know myself and

all that will exist is you,

and a shadow where

I once stood.

At night you wrap your

arm around me.

It is heavy against my ribs.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t hear over

the jackal howling

of my heart.

This world

collects the souls of those

who dare

to love in it.

Will we ever leave

this desolate place?

Expansion.

Contraction.

Rising and falling.

There is a dark thing inside of me,

it writhes against you.

Can you feel it?

*****

wp-content-uploads-2015-06-brieannalewis02Brieanna Lewis is a self-proclaimed poet, tarot goddess, witchy woman, and small dog enthusiast. Hailing from a rural town in upstate New York, she spends her days writing, mastering social media, working at a local newspaper, and raising two fur babies. Brieanna has embarked upon a journey to find her inner wild woman as well as to live her poetic truth.

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