Love & Misadventure

by Lang Leav

  One day, he noticed it had been a very long time since her last smile. When he asked her why, she took both his hands in hers and kissed them warmly. She thanked him for his gift of music and poetry but above all else—for showing her sadness because she had known neither of these things before him. But it was now time for her to go away—to find someone who could show her what happiness was.

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  Do you remember the song that was playing the night we met?

  No, but I remember every song I have heard since you left.

  Jealousy

  It was the way

  you spoke about her.

  With animosity, regret, disdain

  and underneath it all—

  just a hint of pride.

  Waking without You

  Every song that sings of him,

  from every heart

  heard breaking.

  I sing along in dreams of him,

  I cling to—

  when I start waking.

  That Day

  I remember our highs in hues,

  like the color of his eyes

  as the sun was setting;

  the pale of his hands in mine,

  and the blue of his smile.

  I remember our sorrows in shades,

  like the gray of the shadows,

  which loomed that day,

  and the white in his lie

  when he promised to stay.

  The Girl He Loves

  There was a man who I once knew,

  for me there was no other.

  The closer to loving me he grew,

  the more he would grow further.

  I tried to love him as his friend,

  then to love him as his lover;

  but he never loved me in the end—

  his heart was for another.

  A Lover's Past

  The turbulent turns

  and the tides

  that twist them.

  When what they once were,

  was how she

  had wished them.

  And all the joys he brought her,

  how she could

  list them.

  In time she will learn,

  not to

  miss them.

  Beauty's Curse

  Her bow is drawn

  to worlds of dark;

  where arrows spring

  and miss their mark.

  She'll turn their heads—

  but not their hearts.

  Dead Butterflies

  I sometimes think about the fragility of glass—of broken shards tearing against soft skin. When in truth, it is the transparency that kills you. The pain of seeing through to something you can never quite touch.

  For years I've kept you in secret, behind a glass screen. I've watched helplessly as day after day, your new girlfriend becomes your wife and then later, the mother of your children. Then realizing the irony in thinking you were the one under glass when in fact it has been me—a pinned butterfly—static and unmoving, watching while your other life unfolds.

  Wishful Thinking

  You say that you are over me,

  my heart—

  it skips,

  it sinks.

  I see you now with someone new,

  I stare,

  I stare,

  I blink.

  Someday I'll be over you,

  I know,

  I know—

  I think.

  A Heavy Heart

  All you have done,

  I had hoped to pardon.

  When the death of love

  was slow for me—

  for you was sudden.

  Now the years go by,

  and my heart

  has hardened.

  Saving You

  The darkness takes him over,

  the sickness pulls him in;

  his eyes—a blown-out candle;

  I wish to go with him.

  Sometimes I see a flicker—

  a light that shone from them;

  I hold him to me tightly,

  before he's gone again.

  An Answer

  To choose from

  there were many;

  among them,

  there were some.

  And of those I loved you,

  more than any—

  but not as much

  as one.

  Swan Song

  Her heart is played

  like well-worn strings;

  in her eyes,

  the sadness sings—

  of one who was destined

  for better things.

  Part 3

  Love

  First Love

  Before I fell

  in love with words,

  with setting skies

  and singing birds—

  it was you I fell

  in love with first.

  He and I

  When words run dry,

  he does not try,

  nor do I.

  We are on par.

  He just is,

  I just am,

  and we just are.

  Sundays with Michael

  I hold my breath and count to ten,

  I stand and sit, then stand again.

  I cross and then uncross my legs,

  the planes are flying overhead.

  The dial turns with every twist,

  around the watch, around his wrist.

  Resting there with pen in hand,

  who could ever understand?

  The way he writes of all I dream,

  things kind yet cruel and in-between,

  where underneath those twisted trees,

  a pretty girl fallen to her knees.

  Who could know the world we've spun?

  I shrug my shoulders and hold my tongue.

  I hold my breath and count to ten,

  I stand and sit, then stand again.

  Mornings with You

  I slowly wake

  as day is dawning,

  to fingertips

  and lips imploring.

  The sheets against my skin,

  he says,

  like wrapping paper

  on Christmas morning.

  Soul Mates

  I don't know how you are so familiar to me—or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence.

  A Fairy Tale

  Start of spring;

  heart in bloom;

  our whisperings

  in sunlit rooms.

  Summer was felt

  a little more;

  in autumn I

  began to fall.

  When winter came

  with all its white,

  you were mine

  to kiss good night.

  Always

  You were you,

  and I was I;

  we were two

  before our time.

  I was yours

  before I knew,

  and you have always

  been mine too.

  A Dream

  As the Earth began spinning faster and faster, we floated upwards, hands locked tightly together, eyes sad and bewildered. We watched as our faces grew younger and realized the Earth was spinning in reverse, moving us backwards in time.

  Then we reached a point where I no longer knew who you were and I was grasping the hands of a stranger. But I didn't let go. And neither did you.

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  I had my first dream about you last night.

  Really? She smiles. What was it about?

  I don't remember exactly, but the whole time I was dreaming, I knew you were mine.
>
  Before There Was You

  When I used to look above,

  all I saw was sky;

  and every song

  that I would sing,

  I sung not knowing why.

  All I thought and all I felt,

  was only just because,

  never was it ever you—

  until it was all there was.

  Beautiful

  Your hand reaches for mine.

  We kiss tentatively, passionately

  and then, tenderly.

  You brush my hair away from my face.

  “You're beautiful.”

  I wrinkle my nose in protest.

  “You are.”

  All or Nothing

  If you love me

  for what you see,

  only your eyes would be

  in love with me.

  If you love me

  for what you've heard,

  then you would love me

  for my words.

  If you love

  my heart and mind,

  then you would love me,

  for all that I'm.

  But if you don't love

  my every flaw,

  then you mustn't love me—

  not at all.

  Some Time Out

  The time may not

  be prime for us,

  though you are

  a special person.

  We may be just

  two different clocks,

  that do not tock,

  in unison.

  Souls

  When two souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the yearning to be close to the other. The presence that is felt through a hand held, a voice heard, or a smile seen.

  Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand the notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right to be with one another.

  This is the reason why you miss someone so much when they are not there—even if they are only in the very next room. Your soul only feels their absence—it doesn't realize the separation is temporary.

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  Can I ask you something?

  Anything.

  Why is it every time we say good night, it feels like good-bye?

  Solo Show

  He pulls the thick woolen sweater

  up, over my head.

  Little sparks of static

  dance across my skin.

  Does it hurt? He says, running his hands

  gently over my warm body.

  It is your own little fireworks show,

  I whisper.

  The Fear of Losing You

  Without meaning to,

  he's disarmed me,

  with kisses that soothe

  and alarm me.

  In arms that terrify

  and calm me.

  Ebb and Flow

  She yearns to learn

  how his tide is turned,

  to understand

  each grain of sand,

  he knows.

  To move in rhythm,

  with his ebb and flow.

  Written in Traffic

  A quiet gladness,

  in the busy sadness;

  inside the final tussle,

  of love and its madness.

  Its goodness and badness,

  its hustle and bustle.

  Angels

  It happens like this. One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else—closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps because this person carries an angel within them—one sent to you for some higher purpose, to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them—even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering—the reason for their presence will become clear in due time.

  Though here is a word of warning—you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled, the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more.

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  It's so dark right now, I can't see any light around me.

  That's because the light is coming from you. You can't see it but everyone else can.

  Golden Cage

  A bird who hurt her wing,

  now forgotten how to fly.

  A song she used to sing,

  but can't remember why.

  A breath she caught and kept—

  that left her in a sigh.

  It hurts her so to love you,

  but she won't say good-bye.

  Love Letters

  Every letter

  that she types,

  every keystroke

  that she strikes—

  To spell your name

  again and again—

  is all she ever

  wants to write.

  Codependency

  There is nothing more nice,

  there is nothing much worser;

  than me as your vice

  and you as my versa.

  Canyons

  Rarely do the words I love you precede a question mark—but it is a question nonetheless and your answer to mine was the incarnation of a wish—the fulfillment of a promise.

  Somewhere between falling in and out of love, the question spilled from our lips over and over—readily answered with greedy hands and ravenous mouths. It was cautiously whispered on rooftops, as we looked down on terrifying heights and cried out under creased, white sheets in breathless admissions.

  Towards good-bye, I asked the question, and your reply was a thoughtless echo as I stood, feeling as though I was shouting meaningless words into an empty canyon—just to hear them repeated back.

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  “I love you,” he says for the first time.

  I turn my body to face his. “Say it again.”

  He says it over and over again, pulling me beneath him.

  A Time Capsule

  This is where,

  I began to care,

  where I was befriended.

  This is where,

  my soul was bared,

  where all my rules were bended.

  This is where,

  a moment we shared,

  was stolen and expended.

  Now this is where,

  this is where,

  this is where we've ended—

  About the Author

  The work of poet and artist Lang Leav swings between the whimsical and woeful, expressing a complexity beneath its childlike facade.

  Lang is a recipient of the Qantas Spirit of Youth Award and a prestigious Churchill Fellowship.

  Her artwork is exhibited internationally and she was selected to take part in the landmark Playboy Redux show curated by the Andy Warhol Museum.

  She currently lives with her partner and collaborator, Michael, in a little house by the sea.

  Posted Poems is a unique postal service that allows you to send your favorite Lang Leav poem to anyone, anywhere in the world. All poems are printed on heavyweight art paper and encased in a beautiful string-tie envelope. To send a Posted Poem to someone special visit: langleav.com/postedpoems

  The Fell Types are digitally reproduced by Igino Marini. www.iginomarini.com

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  LOVE & MISADVENTURE

  copyright © 2013 by Lang Leav. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.

  Andrews McMeel Publishing, LLC

  an Andrew
s McMeel Universal company

  1130 Walnut Street, Kansas City, Missouri 64106

  www.andrewsmcmeel.com

  www.langleav.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4494-5647-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013947184

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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