July 05, 2021

Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart.

I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name. – Peter S. Beagle


When they fly past me, I hear bells.


A gentle ringing – like they’re attached to the tail feathers,

Sailing out behind them, as curved wings cut through the cold air.


Yet no matter how fast I run, how desperately I search,

They always outfly me. The ringing always fades.



When I see you, I hear bells.


 A warm dong – like autumn soup reverberating through my chest,

Heating me up like a cup of cocoa, sipped under an amber blanket.


And when I loop my arm through yours, fingers intertwined,

The dinging settles down. A satisfying chime.