Tag Archives: romance

Girl I will never see again (poem of mine)

She was beauty’s muse,
I saw her once
Alone in a cafe,
Elbows propped
At crooked angles,
The soft trail of a jaw bone
Framed with a curl at the neck.
I felt as if,
My bones had ruptured,
Legs gave way
At the knee,
And feet turned webbed
On the wet cement.

I asked her once
Or twice
In my head
If I could take a seat,
We turned pages of books
Like wind turns leaves on an Autumn day
And I felt the brush of her wrist,
Soft as a newborn lamb,
And the warm glow
Of the brown tinder in her eye,
Glowed at the hearth inside me.

I asked her once,
Or twice
In my head
If I could take a seat,
And I watched myself,
Walk on by,
A turned face,
Turned down
Against the oncoming rain.

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Talking to you on a Sunday morning (poem of mine)

Understand
That I sway
Red and raw
When you talk to me
And inside fire burns
To smoke
And I hear the whistle
Of its embers.
I am distracted,
But,
I try to hold your gaze,
Try to untangle
This vineyard of escape
In my brain,
I drift
to lift a branch
And see eyes,
Heavy behind the purple of the grapes.
I drink the wine of your skin
And lay still
I turn my head away
Then back to you
We talk
Like old friends.
Air buzzes
Electric
As a hive
Weighed down with honey.

Only a sleep (Original poem of mine)

 

It is not the last number in the sequence
The last drop in the pattern.
Not the be all,
The end all.
The same repetitive conundrums
The raised eyebrows,
The feigned concern
For your fragility
The elbow room.
“He needs his space”
The glassy stare will go excused for now.

A lot of the what’s, the where’s, the how’s
Will always be a why.
It is the last flash of day when the curtains squeeze in the dusk,
The numbing light from the TV at 4 am when you wake
With the cold telling you to stop sleeping,
To wake,
To check the clock,
To wait.
Each click of the second
Reminds me of why.

It is the morning,
The birds brought no comfort today
Window slammed in disgust,
My reflection swimming in the bowl
Recoil,
At the distortion of myself.
Skin that doesn’t hold the life within it very well
Anymore.

When she left,
You thought of the possibilities,
But the knives were blunt anyway.
The thought of release brought no comfort.
Only a sleep,
Just a sleep.