Upon Meeting You

Like two
souls
meeting
at a
crossroads,
we get
to
finalize this journey,
filled
to the rim
with
the questions
we already
know the answers
to,
and
our only fear
is
the thought of
losing
each other
in
the crosshairs again,
and
the layers
of
branches and roots
we had
to let go
to
find each
other.

Like
two souls
just
figuring
out
the distance,
we
are the luckiest
souls
in
the room
as
if we
never even
left.

M.C. Davis

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The Missing

Sun-drenched,
we fell into
conversation,
like
the ocean does
to
another
ocean,
full of
the sea-life
and
other bright
things,
shimmying
into the
depths,
and letting
the coolness
of the deep
fill
every crevice.
We gave
way
to energy,
the sounds
of our own voices,
and
allowed
the dampness
of
the world
to
loosen
our
touches
and glances.
Like the
time
Noah
forgave the world,
and
simply
left
without
notice.
See,
what this poet
loves
about you,
is
the nuance
of
how
we miss each
other
like a wordsmith
misses
her syllables,
nouns,
and the subtle dance
with
your voice,
the texture of your skin,
and love hidden
in between
the noise
of the
streets.
You,
my incredible sage,
is
the only
thing
missing
right now.

M.C. Davis

Connection

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A little
here
and there,
bit
by bit,
and
there exists
the
connection
short-circuited
in
the mix
of
the things
not
fixing themselves.
A
small peace,
filling
in
the gaps,
and letting
in
the
loose,
wireless,
and
often,
faulty connections
we
once had
during the yesteryear
days
before.
These
letters
offer
no support,
and
the vowels
and consonants
only
give
a
quiet
reprive
from the noise.
We
are only left
with
the distance
that
seemingly
feels indifferent
to
the situation.
This connection,
however
faint,
is vibrant
and stoic,
but we’re not
determined
enough
to fall
too deeply
in
between these
paragraphs.

M.C. Davis

Little Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you
would have
only felt
the tinge
of
what’s to come,
you
would have
moved
to
the front
of the class,
spend
that
free period
to
figure
out
the loose change
of geometric shapes,
or
detailed
those participles that
danced
without cause.
Remember
the
time your hand
knew
the answer,
but
your
fear
spoke up
first?

Little
Man,
if you
would
have only
known
of
what’s to
come,
then
you
would
have ran
harder,
and
fallen
quicker.
You
would have
let those answers
become
questions,
and
you would
have
made those
paths
less about being
traveled,
and more
about being experienced.

Little
Man,
remember
when your hand
knew
the answer,
but your
fear
spoke
up first?

M.C. Davis

Lose To Win

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If our
loss is
indeed
our win,
let the gloves
fall
like delicate
morsels,
and
let the fever
pitch
reduce
down to the
embers
of
what used
to
be.
If
our loss
is
indeed
our win,
let the
sky
simply become
a
yawn,
where
the spirit of
the
day is
felt only
at
the end
where the
night
just
becomes a
darker version
of
the day.
If our
loss
is indeed
our
win,
let this
poet
start new
words, with new
vowels
and consonants,
since
this
poem
just
ain’t quite
ready.

M.C. Davis

The Love Of Another

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leaves
that dance
and
shimmy
mid-air
often get
mistaken
for
their freedom,
when
the
truth is
that
they only dance
in
such
a
way to loosen
into a
better grip.
A better grip
to
allow
a warmer
spot
on
the bed
to
take hold,
or
a shift in the
arms
to
better accommodate
the
love
of
another.

M.C.Davis