The briefest of moments to us, passed between, and I was, for the briefest time, momentarily happy. I crave the briefest moment to spend with you again. For in that fragile moment, I am, forever, briefly sane. The All or … Continue reading Brief. A poem.
I wish she would read this artifice of love and know my asinine attempt to swim to her waters ‘festina lente’, my yearning to sweep her off her feet and cushion her with desirous imposition, is meant solely to glorify … Continue reading Artifice of Love. A poem.
Every indifferent look is broken glass, slicing my already severed heart. Your indifference, (bricks laid by me), is the wall separating our dual Berlins. Your indifference is the pendulum that crushes me whole: nothing left and nothing right. Every indifferent … Continue reading Indifference. A poem.
Am I a ghost to you, incorporeal as mist, drifting on the fulsome breeze, far beyond your view? What would it take to anneal this brume, a somatic conversion to make me real? Your fugue is my grave; Here I … Continue reading Ghostly. A poem.
The stuff of yearning dreams and wanton, empty years, stuffed to the seams, stuffed with regret. How much more stuffing could this vagrant heart beget, stuffed full to bursting, stuffed with loneliness. If you liked that, then you’ll love the … Continue reading Stuffing. A poem.
‘Cold’, a haiku trilogy. 1. Cold It’s so cold in here. Icicles within your stare doth make me shiver. 2. Distant To cross this tundra, where wind, snow and ice, doth reign. Find a way to you. 3. Frozen Frozen … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Cold’, a haiku trilogy.
We stopped upon the stair, our furtive conversation like a tender questionnaire. She smiled and talked and stared and in the animation of her lips and smile and hair, I found a love that swelled long after she had left … Continue reading Stair. A poem.
I mirrored you subconsciously, perhaps you noticed you in me. You mirrored me subconsciously, perhaps I noticed, but didn’t see. Neither mirror could reveal beyond the veil, our hesitancy. Neither mirror would let us read of love, of fate, of … Continue reading Mirrored. A poem.
Is there any such thing as a happy ending? Maybe only in books and history told by the winner, but not for me and you, we lonely sinners. I find I no longer believe in fairy tales or story book … Continue reading Happy Endings. A poem.
What would I do if you belonged to another? No hanging tree exists that could free my heart from your beloved tether. Would I drown myself in the incumbent surf, or throw myself from the weary heights, dash all my … Continue reading The Truth. A poem.
At the end of the affair, when all is lost, was won, when the final note is written when all has come undone. The longing and the passion converted now to envy, the embers now black charcoal of fires that … Continue reading The End of the Affair. A poem.
I hang on your every word. Every nuance and subtlety tightens your noose and I gasp and grasp for air and the latency of truth. My limbs flail in puppet motions; I’m a paper doll with button joints, anointed in … Continue reading Hangman. A poem.
You endow me with gossamer wings, a loving benefaction granted; a gift that encapsulates and enables flight to peregrine places uncharted and exotic. But with so many destinations and arterial paths and so many cloudy possibilities, only one makes any … Continue reading Wings. A poem.
Night, again and here I am, pondering the specificity of my unctuous requests, enraptured and Heaven-sent on the backs of clasped palms, no random incidental tests of charm. Every night I thank Him there, for faith and hope and grace, … Continue reading Night, Again. A poem.
This room is overcrowded, ingurgitated hell. But just you and me, if you subtract everyone else. This room is clamorous, cacophonous hell. But you could hear me (so very clearly), if you subtract everyone else. This room is overheated, agitated … Continue reading Subtract. A poem.
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