Kirk Diedrich

Maybe we carry parts
of those we loved
and who loved us
with us into
whatever is beyond.
They travel wrapped
in the safety and comfort
of our hearts.
Love enough people
and you will live forever.

She's sublime
as an afternoon
spent on a porch
with coffee
and a good book
during a Summer rain;
she reminds me of
what it means
to love the quiet parts
of myself.

Write me to where you are now.
Draw me a map
with the way your heart beats
when I say that name
you love more than your own.
Send me a playlist of road songs
that lead to you.

Come get lost with me.
Let's find a forest
and take off our boots
in the soft earth
until we grow roots
and stay until
we return as trees.

Storm the gates
at her heart
with a legion of
truthful words and
matching actions
and watch them open
to let them in
and accept
her surrender.

She is the salve
for the scars
on my heart.
They fall away
like blown dust
at her touch.

Love her story and
kiss all her scars.
Guard her heart
and, she'll give you
the stars.

There is a conifer
whose cone is sealed tight
against all damage
and only by fire
and extreme heat
will it unfurl;
it is by those scales
I recognize your heart
and wish to
burn you wide open
that you may become
the forest of words
you were meant to be.

I think of her
and that spot in my heart
reserved for her
aches like an old injury
at the threat of rain.

Midwest girl
of spun corn silk
and cashmere scarves
come remind me
what home feels like.

She said
she doesn't fall
because there's never
anyone to catch her
when she does.
I looked at my hands,
smiled knowingly
and said "Try me."

She says she's poison
but maybe just a little of her
would be enough
to keep me love drunk.

Her laugh is a
slowly blooming rose
made of warmth
in my chest.

You've made yourself at home
in my mind; this cozy nook
with half-read books and records
spilling their warm magic
into the air, and
from an open window comes
that river rush that is my blood
speeding with thoughts of you.

Haunt me, little ghost,
light up my dark
with your luminescence.
Make me believe
in something after this.
For I have already fallen
for the you who isn't here.

Wrap me
in your sleepy voice,
sing me to sleep
with your soft laugh.
I want to fall
into slumber
like I fell for you;
Resistant at first,
then slowly, deeply.

The night sky is a mirror
its reflection the space
within my chest
I recognize it,
I know it's there
in the thundering silence
that secret machine
of time's advance
I gaze
in fear
in awe
in wonder
if you see me, too.

To be heard.
To be understood.
Or, if not understood,
to be free
to express myself
and to be felt.
But, above all
to be trusted.
That is all I ask
and I fear
it's too high a price
for anyone to pay
and get me in return.

All I want is
to be a good memory
in someone else's head;
to take up
just a little space
in a finite heart
not my own.

If this be the end of days,
to use my remaining breaths
whispering things
that make you smile
and kiss me
will be time well spent.

Peace is her smile upon waking;
a whispered secret name
in a language
only you two understand.

I wish there were
some way to show her
how absolutely beautiful she is
but words fail.
Only my hands
and her skin
speak the truth.

Her ocean eyes
cascade waves
through my heart
as constant
as natural
as eternal
as the moon
moves the tide.

Holding space
in the shape of you
until you fill it
with your warmth,
your thrumming heart
and the smile
you try to hide from me.

I saw
Cassiopeia
in the desert sky
and thought
of you
not some
vain queen
just blazing bright beauty
luminous in the ink dark
guiding me
safely home
to you.

I think about
her head on my chest
and the scent
of her hair
and it almost
for a moment
seems real.

Almost.

We are not broken,
slightly scratched
but, not broken.
We are vintage cool,
retro, old school,
because we believe
in love
as warm as
a vinyl record.
We are priceless.
We are rare finds.
I'm glad we both
kept looking
through the stacks.
I'm glad we both
found the song
we were searching for.

She smells like
a warm kitchen
on a winter morning.

She tastes like
maple syrup,
pancakes and coffee.

She feels like
a favorite sweater.

She sounds like
vintage vinyl.

She looks like home.

She hides her true self
her dreams
her heart
from the one who aches
to find them
for fear
she will lose them
and herself
to him.

A girl like
a bedtime story
that makes you
want to stay awake
all night
to see how it ends.

And, read it again.

And, again.