Vera-Yevtushenko

We spent the first hours of the year Wrapped up in a misguided night of Too many words unspoken, too many Questions that needed to be answered. Tangled in his arms, every tenable reason to Dive into the snowy, midnight was pushed To the back of my mind, shoved into a Closet full of the bones etched with worries and fears. But the deep-seeded regret that had been My constant companion for the past weeks Slunk away to the far edges of this Flat-Earth Theory of Love we had designed. I should beckon it back, leaving a trail of Kisses down his chest for it to find its Way back to my arms, keep my regret from Plummeting off the edge of the world

Yesterday, I dreamt in black and white. His eyes catching the light in a glitter of Grey that inspires the morning sun to stay Below the horizon for a few more hours Tangled in each other's arms and legs. He laughs in bold charcoal, a matte color That defines the edges of his mouth where Steel edges of his teeth catch the softeness Of his lips and the clockwork ridges of the Tiny cogs of my heart spinning at a frantic pace. The pins in his joints, the closer I look, Gleam in an impossible copper that drifts down from The autumn leaves, whirling and catching my Hand before I can retreat back to my technicolor World where the

There's moonlight in my cuts, The innate ability to shine in my bruises. I don't know when or how it happened, But I found you in the depths of my mind. You laugh, and I think of all the Sunlight I've absorbed in long days At the beach, wind tossing my hair, Water soaking the edges of my jeans. I wake each morning, and go about my Day with you on the edge of my fingers, At the corners of my smile, and constantly On the very tip of my tongue. You drift in and out of my life, Skirting the boundaries and testing Barriers for the slightest of weaknesses. Methodically finding them, one by one. I like the way you smile against my l

Fuck airplanes as shooting stars, I'm wishing on everything that crosses My path. I think maybe just one of These inanimate objects will come through. Street lamps turn into prayer poles, Sleek dark lines that end in a yellowish Light that I can only hope is one of Happiness and not good-byes. Passing cars become genies, blazing Past me and reminding me that good Things come and go so quickly that it's Best to pay attention while they're here. I make wishes on trees as they fly by In a blur of black-green with tinges of Gold from hopeful lampposts that refuse To tell me what direction I should drive. I've tried wishing on star

I've started creating my own names for emotions They have yet to define in Oxford's dictionary. You see, I've gone looking, perused every page In desperate hope that what I felt had, indeed, Been felt before by enough people to warrant an Entry into the Oxford English Dictionary. What I have found has been disappointing (but fortunately that word was defined for me: adj. failing to fulfill one's hopes or expectations) to Say the least, but I have found it slightly Liberating to create concrete words for abstract I-wish-you-the-best-but-I-can't-want-the-best-for-you And the even more complex, I-wish-knew-how-to-push-you- Out-of-my

I'm not your compass. I'm not your GPS, I'm not The folded AAA map you keep in the Backseat of your car, unnoticed Until you've taken too many Turns and the landscape is far Beyond being recognizable. I'm not your North Star or Your Southern Cross. I'm not the sextant you traded Jewels and gemstones for in Some foreign country whose smell Of Cinnamon and cardamom and Deep spiritual spices still linger in The depths of your memory's nose. I'm not Ptolemy's atlas, or John Davis' backstaff. I'm not John Harrison's chronometer, You won't find your way around The world by determining your Longitude alone. You'll end up In too

I spend my nights, spinning silk Into long slender strands of yarn, Twisting nature's divinity between my fingers. I've had the tiny filaments sink Into the microscopic cuts you gave Me the last time you held my hand In yours. The fine threads slide through these Cuts and draw out the sweetness And bitterness that seeped from Your hands onto mine, coating my finger Tips like the clay from the banks Of my childhood. Slick and smooth, I try to wipe it off on my worn jeans, but You linger in the crevices and cracks. These locks of silk twist into lengths Intertwined with bits of my memories, Turning the yarn I thought I was crea

I think you and I should Try being in love for a little while. We have a track-record for choosing Those who break our heart, those who Drop us off on the side of a Lonely 2-lane highway far outside Amarillo. You and I are the sort who Don't sit there waiting for the dust To settle. There is so much to be Seen and so little time to see it in. So we pick ourselves up, brush off the Dust, and continue down the road, Smiling at beautiful sunsets, breath-taking Sunrises, and long afternoons in the light of day. Let's get lost for a little while, Open doors we've never tried before. Crawl through windows that require A step-stool

Here's the deal: You don't have to. I won't ask you to. If you can't, you can't. That's something I'll Have to learn to accept. There are a lot of things To be afraid of. Fear knows No bounds. But if you do, and fear Is enough to keep you From me, then it wouldn't Work anyways. If that means Spending the rest of my Life without you... Then I suppose I'll Have to find some very Engaging hobbies.

I have dozens of letters addressed to you With personal beginnings that lie about Just how long it had been since we took Alternate paths, so far from the starting point. "Hey you," they always start and then a Sentiment of well-wishing, no mention as To how I've been doing, because without you How I'm doing really hasn't changed. Depending on the day and the season, there Is a long paragraph about how I either love You or Hate you or, the purest emotion I know, I don't give a damn about you. There is a safety there in the apathy, something I am far better equipped to deal with than these Other emotions that have neither a beg