love poem

Salt and Seashells

 

Sea salt made a fine layer of dust on your skin

when the cresting waves alternatingly

pushedand pulled your body

with the readiness of a lover. I stood

on the shore, toes gently lapped

by the aftermath to

the small violences you refused to shy away from

and daydreamed about your voice against my skin.

I called out to you, then,

and culled the seashells from my fist to select

the one best suited for your hand.

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The Cupcake is a Lie

 

 

There was a café at the end of the road

where the patio trickled onto the sidewalk

and umbrellas opened like snowdrop petals

allowing only splatters of sunlight to decorate the plates

placed in front of posied forks and clinking glasses.

At noon we sat with people sipping rosé

and nibbling the edges of pastries:

you with your cupcake, I with my

tart. Your mouth full of mischief, you spoke

with your hands to clear my head and

there was something like sweetness

on your fingers. Words sifted between your eyes and 

a token of my innocence saw the sun

when icing stuck to your bottom lip. 

I barely noticed the tremor in your fingers

when you raised your glass to toast the afternoon or

the acidic taste of the powder I wiped off your nose with my thumb.

 

 

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Summer

She lingered over her martini, an olive

floating gracefully in the gin,

vermouth and humor sitting dry on her tongue.

The summer evening slowly inched itself across the tablecloth

until the light from the candle at the center

hindered its crusade to bring on the dark.

I ran my hand over the flame, letting it lick the dent of my palm,

inching it further down until

the quick pain reminded me of that first pinprick of love

the night we met. Do you remember

the earthy smell of the apples slowly rotting under the leaves?

The world altering itself beneath our feet?

There was a sense of urgency back then, a need

for hastened fingertips and my lips to always be pressed to yours, 

skin rubbed in raw emotion until it burned like kindling 

in the night. Your eyes were golden

under the lanterns, your hands pale birds

swooping over your plate.

In that moment my skin burned for the ocean

of your curls across my hips,

the charm on your necklace to brush against my thigh,

the warmth of summer waves to pulse beneath my skin. 

 

You

 

 

Perhaps it’s because I miss you, the real you

or the thought of you.

It’s not like I know the difference.

 

 

 

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We Slid Like Molasses

 

 

Tell them we died

in late evening while the band still lingered

over their cocktails
and rhythms slid like molasses
over moon-tanned shoulders and under stilettos.

Lilacs wafted from her hair as she tapped a heel.
I imagined what my mother would say
and I suppose we gathered glances
like some do sea shells
and held them just as tightly.

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The Willow Tree Will Keep Our Secrets

 

There’s a certain appeal to the bruise colored haze at the bottom
of a six-pack. She sits
on the kitchen floor, knees bent
out at acute angles, shuddering shoulder
blades pressing against skin
until the fine human film splits
and she falls – splits down the center

like the bottom of the Colorado mountain valleys we hiked last spring.

The skin of her cheeks would flush in the brisk mornings and I, alone,
learned every shade of tension stretched through her shoulders
when she’d bend
over to wash her hair in the stream.
Like the willow tree bends: graceful

limbs reaching to touch a quivering reflection.

 



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In This Languid Afternoon

In this languid afternoon,

I could be slipping

In the soft mattress

With the smell of Saturday night,

But my thoughts are wallowing

Unto a distant sight

Of you,

Tuckin’ in an ironed shirt,

Brushing some strands of hair

To a date

I could only use a bet

To wish I was the girl,

Who could suffuse 

To the spell

Of your smell

Hanging

On your skin;

The girl who gapes

At the look,

Which I just traced

In my fingers

through an air,

Thinning, 

As it is surreal.

Those are the things 

Slithering,

As they seether

In my broken head.

I couldn’t pretend

Again 

And anymore

That they are not there;

That you were an arm’s length.

To the girl

Who chuckles at your jest

In a dinner 

I could just dream

Away..

I have been fallin’

And tossin’;

Sighin’;

Beatin’ badly

And turning

To a bed

Since I knew him,

Worse,

When I run thoughts of him.

You see,

I better be changing the sheets,

Chasing the tunnel fading

Before another girl would leap

Across my soundless sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Dramatic tunes

Dramatic tunes play in my mind

as I wait in bed for your replies

Took a trip, tried to listen to

A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships

But boy, I really should take note

that 1975 was never the year

that the internet was born 

then lives got weird

 

Dramatic tunes swirl in my mind

Nauseating and mesmerizing, all at once

I trace all the pieces I could find

to draw the image that may resemble you

and draft the letters I could think of

but never would I send to you

 

Dramatic tunes leech on my mind

Trying to design my last demise

The nothingness on their side,

churning violence all coincide

 

Dramatic tunes play in my mind 

As I wait for your replies 

The darkness would soon arrive

here and hear my last goodbye

The flock of crows are closing in

Floating just three feet above

But then I feel my eyes flinch

As the phone buzzed

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the anxiety you have when you're not sure someone's still interested of you or not anymore. 

Two Hearts

Folder: 
Confessions

Angel eyes,
James Dean smile,
and a Marcos Not A Hero shirt
He was scouring the room when he found me first
Shy guy type,
crooked spine,
My heart compressed and prepared for the worst
The second he stepped in to my world,
I found my tongue struggling for some words


"I'm a bad conversation,"
I'd say, gripping harder on my first Chardonnay
"How else can you be a conversation?"
he'd flash a smile, flicking the last of his Marlboro Lights

 

And right there and there,
two souls collided into a glorious explosion,
sliding to the grip of the claws of the night
on the way to the familiar road
of sins, misery, and scenic memories

 

After two nights of flying ballistics
and crippling thoughts once abandoned,
Two hearts soon mixed
into a sparkling August poison
A blue bourgeois Libra
And a yellow-bleeding Leo
A pair of delicate, diamond hearts
Defying fate, seeking Cupid's darts
Rising from the dead,
Rising from ash
Rising for the words once left unsaid

 

The thrill of it all is eating me whole 
I feel the shaking ground and the cold air blows
Omens, cautions, and warnings 
Red lights above us all blaring
A whirlwind romance, friends say,
is bound for doom and eventual fade
But his words are enough to hold on to
Words that make my demons fade into view
along with my bad past as I start anew
Away from the dark clouds 
that have crippled me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about a whirlwind romance.