A Precious Waste of Time

We lost ourselves
in the madness
of the Universe,
always
showing our teeth,
grit and all.
We found this
precious waste
of
time in each
other,
like a soft day
glistening
in
its
own perfection.
We found
ourselves
nestled
in between the notes,
like
we always
do,
but this time
without
the chromatic
tones
or the simple
shapes
that often define
us.
See,
we are all
that
the Universe
requires,
and
our waste of
time
just
gave us
the beauty
that
we
truly are.

M.C. Davis

A Rose Remembered

A rose
simply remembered
doesn’t
quite intend
well.
She’s not fragile,
nor
do her petals
dictate
to the sun.
She exists
within
the notes
of every concerto,
but
also
she carries
the
notes in between
that
often
begin
with a whisper.
See, a rose
remembered
is
never
simply
remembered, as
she
is created.
A rose
remembered
only knows of
itself
in
this way.

M.C. Davis

In The Wind

Every so often,
we decide to let caution
flail,
dance in between the notes,
and
precariously
allow the sun to
wipe
away the rain’s
desert stain.
We,
as they say,
are in the wind,
but
unlike most things,
you and I
get
to also
become the
wind.

M.C. Davis

A Chase of Sorts

Let’s chase the moon,
upside-down
and through
the layers,
letting fate
decide what
to
do with our
hands, letting
them
dance like the
sun
does after
she’s
figured out the
necessary
steps
in waking us up.
Let’s
chase the moon,
and
decide where our
feet touch,
allowing the sandy
pieces
to
assemble like ants
do
after a great
feast.
We’re here,
figuring all
of this
out,
and when the moon
has
slowed down,
let’s
bring her into
our
proximity
like the Gods
do
before an afternoon
rain
shower.

M.C. Davis