endreeyah

indefinitely

Recent Posts

  • Portrait of You.

    I paint you in my mind.
    Portrait of mixed media.

    Oil my favourite, the way it blends and glides,
    Takes forever to dry as though a reminder
    That mistakes too were meant to be.

    Needle and thread in hand,
    I begin my next conquest,
    Sew along the edges,
    ‘Just to add dimension’, I say,
    Then find myself entranced
    By the endless push and pull.

    So I keep coming back,
    Addicted to this mechanism –
    Like keeping you in my mind
    Would attest against the fact
    That we hadn’t stood the test of time.

    But the needle finally pricks me,
    The pain sets free within me.
    In a moment of panic
    I pick up my brush,

    Desperate to touch
    Ground with the idea of ‘us’.

    But the brush is stiff,
    The paint has dried.

    Oh, I suppose it is time.

    I keep away the memories of you
    Cocooned in shells
    Of hardened oil,
    Sealed shut with cotton threads.

    I sign my name on this finished piece
    My proudest work – it is fine time I let you go.

  • dessert of choice

    you tasted like key lime pie.

    your thoughts like bold flavours –
    full bodied and in favour
    of all things eccentric,
    to say the least.

    your words tart like fact, 
    rid of feeling or tact.
    and your face, 
    indefinitely pinched like 
    a bizarre mix of 
    worry and regret. 

    first impressions with you 
    leave a tongue coated in
    hostile acidity, full of unpleasantries 

    but second thoughts are coaxed 
    by your unrelenting aftertaste
    of unforeseen suavity:

    a delicate sweetness so
    tirelessly alluring and rarely disappointing.
    that even when making your acquaintance
    is slow and seemingly unrewarding
    I still choose to learn of patience, to learn of you.

  • i’ve always known love

    in faint heartbeats and palpable sighs 
    with the weight of only a feather 
    and the lengths of the skies 

    i’ve bared my soul
    to watch it thrive 
    like the sweetest fruit 
    that grows on vines 

    i’ve always known love: a messy explosion!

    it is ruptured skins and oozing flesh 
    tearing away at the graceful steps 
    of the fluid dancer’s choreography. 

    chewed up! the limbs are left 
    a clumsy entanglement 
    a lover’s regret 

    the skin is bitter 
    it tastes of wine 
    helps the lover forget –
    the loved is not divine. 

  • summer hearts

    you are a forever memory of a summer already passed, but i feel your warmth still.

    on days i am naive, i think you a blanket in this harsh winter. i dream of you, within my grasp, your hugs a promise of everlast.

    on days i am angry, i think you Florida’s heat. The suffocating humidity leeching on my skin, infiltrating my lungs, an intruder in every inch of my being. except what i despise most is your absence- no, your willingness to be absent, your lack of intrusion.

    on days i simply am, i do not think of you. i like to believe that i do not think of you. i only wish you well. i hope you are well. are you well?

  • echo chamber

    the birds perched themselves on my window today.

    pecked at my hand while i fed them grain. When they’d had their fill they sang hymns as i watched but stopped as soon as my gaze dropped.

    it was as though they’d heard the echoed sadness bounce from the walls of my confinement.

    for they looked at me in pity — but i only smiled, and then they flew away.

  • first love in a strawberry field

    like a box of strawberries –
    a guessing game!
    the odds at 50/50
    neither certain nor tame

    sweet or sour? or both?

    the sweetness lingers,
    coating the palette,
    it is a candied touch!

    the sourness stings,
    making me flinch,
    it is a warning nudge!

    for awhile it was a honeyed streak,
    every taste making me fall too deep.
    I could almost hear, my mama shriek:
    thread slowly down, it is steep!

    A fool I was, I didn’t care!
    I knew that I’d seen love there!
    No Jack, just Jill,
    tumbling down the hill,
    rolling through the strawberry field.

  • my favourite colours

    it was a slow birth – our love, like the wavering flame that never seemed quite sure of how long it might keep burning.

    i thought it strangled at first, it’s struggle for oxygen, threatening to out a heartbreak at any given moment. My impatience for love meant my confidence was depleted, i contemplated putting it out myself.

    but you, with your Gentle Giant hands always fed it kindle, quiet whispers of air to keep it ablaze. Your love was compelling, a sky of orange and reds, the heat a comforting wave of warmth.

    I learnt oranges and reds are my favourite colours.

    You are my favourite colour.

    Thank you for teaching me the colours of love.

  • vine

    Hold my body like a prayer,
    whisper sacred hymns.
    Chant the blessed rituals,
    tell none of the way we sin.

    Delicate dancers falling in step,
    the melody a casket witnessing our love.
    Joint harmony on the world class stage,
    private lovers belting our song.

    We move in perfect rhythm
    chest, breast, thigh, waist.
    Complements painting skylines
    of reds and pinks, oranges and yellows
    an explosion of colours
    the crackling campfire flame.

  • what dreams are made of

    you are caramelised skies, a sweet glaze over the almost burnt shadow of all that i once was and i look to you and wonder if this perfect fairytale might shatter with a sharp knock, a harsh reminder of all that is cruel and earthly.

    you are, what dreams are made of and so i pray that you hold the weight of all that is heavy and bound toward me, I, the centre of gravity of all things grave.

  • clockwork

    If I were to imagine it
    it’d be the helpless struggle of predestined fate
    caught, dead centre
    in the sticky threads of my cobweb
    suspended, but not flying nor free
    see, the silk-thread neurons weave the prey
    like the next step in the sewing process-
    the continuous
    push and pull strung in the bed frame of memory,
    ringing through and through,
    a never ending symphony
    calling, and testing
    the humble plea, remember me?

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