Fireworks at Night

If I grasp my hands together,

and gasp,

It’s interesting how easy you assume,

That you’ve caught my interest.

Or even, my respect.

If I tilt my chin up,

And widen my eyes,

Stretch the muscles hidden at the corner of my lips,

My intent remains bitten

Off at the head.

I truly love you, God I don’t why but I do,

Yes, stranger, you,

It’s you I love, with your odd quirks and mannerisms,

‘You-isms,’ some might say.

I’m a silent lover,

Falling deeper against the way your hands hold a pen,

Or how your hair looks, as it catches the bouncing November light.

I’m in love with your strangeness, next to my own known me.


Don’t assume that because I am known to me, that my love for your otherness eclipses the deep fascination

I hold for life.

And therefore, its firsthand observer, a perspective that not many get…my own fallible, imperfect,

Lovable self.

I know it hurts to hear it, and I’m sorry that in this tale, you’re the firework so beautiful but who only leaves a trail of smoke,

Unlike the sweet effervescent light, of my own experience of life,

God, I don’t know why I love strangers,

When they are fireworks in the night.

Published by LughLana

Hey there. My name is Ash. Whenever I feel lost or confused, I write. This blog is a project in releasing the poetry I would have kept locked up inside, otherwise. It's pronounced 'LOU-lah-NA.' Enjoy your visit!

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