in a stew

 

will you make me stop
thinking about you
when sleep finally arrives–
waiting out all of our seasons
for the sake
of bitter herbs in the soup

the bitter
with the sweet and savoury
is always there
not this one-dimensional
two-headed
Frankenstein monster
you imagine us to be

yesterday was a game
will you take a chance
and paint your dreams
on a griddle of hotcakes
with syrupy regret
that makes you sick
and leaves you wet

shouldn’t keep
hunting for the hunter
running after our destroyer
one step ahead
and two back
for no good reason
except that it feels right
to stroke the dark places

if no one sees
who does it hurt
when we re-configure our
boundaries
some given
others drawn
with the same old piece of chalk
nearly used up

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My Valentine

Snowy Valentine.jpg

The light in here is too bright for morning
the sunrise peachy glow distorted and squinting
our distinctive beginning comes to me at the same time
both warm and cuspated

knowing your love still exists helps me to
keep on, keep on, and knowing you still love me
bids me not give up

The lights in this room are too dim to read by
in the evening, the aroma of sausage, with its
fennel and thyme, and the acid of tomatoes
keeping things real

the streaks in the sky at sundown leaving
little illumination to stir the sauce pot, little to the
imagination of a pair of love thieves in a jam

And some days we don’t take the time, even to
let eyes meet, but we continue, and
knowing your love still exists
helps me keep on, keep on

carousel
of random thoughts
carry me
past this place
into our first apartment
our noisy haven

with a date
written
into my notebook
and your eyes seeking mine
for the first time in a decade
I can sleep now

Raw

Today was supposed to be beautiful
one of love and laughter and soft touches
but I have been beat up around the shoulders
and my sides, ribs sore
the last words from your mouth
cold and indifferent

what would you say to unbearably cool sheets
and soft duvets, dark hair thick and gleaming
draped over you, sticky with love, and us
oh us, we could be something, we should be
really something but we collide, we clash
and we are bruised

while you wash my back we could talk about our dreams
about how come everything suddenly
feels hard and uphill
rub my skin softly then rub me raw
far away from here

mooring

your pleas for trust are heavy
the scales made of sugar
threaten to melt to nothing
if I cry

why does the sky
part easily for the gulls
no matter my mood
or the weather

together is our only hope
our lies of decades past
must not be allowed entrance
into this asylum

Communion

august roses.jpg

 

In the hot car
that damned a/c we never fixed
I pull my hair back and twist it
impaling the knot with chopsticks
wiping my forehead with a napkin
The heat is oppressive

And the tension
of what distracted me in church
from hearing the gospel
hangs between us
anger. frustration. pain.
all hovering in the void

Starting the car
I pull my dress up over my knees
to be cooler
and catch his brief glance
sure he’s a breast man himself
but will still admire my legs
blatantly

The mood lightens at this
and pulling out of the parking lot
I turn the car towards home
thinking, yeah
we’ll stay together, but
don’t you dare call it fate

No man’s land

I set up camp there
when my world is too much
and yours is unreachable
I build my safety net there
even though you never
asked me to

(your claim is full disclosure)

What do I need?
I don’t remember, as I have
learned to do without
this ground
with its rotting and wounded
feels oddly safe

Affection would be nice
after all this time
but I can get myself off
like any other day
and I hear you say ‘no’
not that kind of touch

The touch of lips on a heart
injured and bleeding

(no man left behind?)

(are we) All-in

We are pulled apart
like soft rolls, baked from the same dough
then pulled away from one another
with greedy fingers

Our dreams that we put in the ante
are masticated, what
will it take to bring all
the pieces together again

Some say wise up, you are
better apart, with no hope
of coming to an accord, and
mayhap we shall come to our senses

Or do we remember and gather each
precious piece of our puzzle, neglecting none
each tenderness protected
I am still here, pass the glue