Tag Archives: love

Disrobed

  This morning, I read my coffee, Drank the paper. Dawns are better messy, And nights are better off confused. I want to Keep things that way. People stronger than me Have needed a chiropractor, To readjust their back After … Continue reading

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The Dent Beneath His Eye

    The morning I noticed The little dent Beneath his eyes, I was sunk. Some remnant from childhood, A tree poorly climbed, A baseball bat swung, Not ducking quickly enough, Or a chicken pox wound He couldn’t help but … Continue reading

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I Sip Whiskey, Now

  I sip whiskey, now I still find it acrid, Kerosene down my throat I’ve found I like the burning. You’d recognize me, But it would take a minute or two. As days roll by, A constant state of metamorphosis … Continue reading

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Like Leaves, I Fall (Though I do not Decay)

  What is it, this time, Crawling up your spine, Using the backs of your Rib-cage as rungs? Every step, A sharper breath, Until it reaches your heart; Finally learning the color Of your blood. There are so many white … Continue reading

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And It’s June

  Your shoulders map a dim horizon, Shading a hazy morning That tastes of leaking ozone. I’m learning Braille by Touching the tide of goosebumps Flushed from your knees to your elbows. In your softly curling fingers, I hang every … Continue reading

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Femme Fatale

  You asked me Why you could No longer see. I warned you Of what this Heat would inspire. You didn’t hear When I spoke, Advising that where There is fire, There is smoke.

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Yourself

I sigh at your impertinence Keeping my smile towards the door And my mouth around goodbyes As you asked me If I could love you As dearly as you loved yourself The afterglow of A fling that’s been flung, Basking … Continue reading

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Blackbirds

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to heal All your life, you’ve been flighty and fighting Waiting for each moment to arrive And leave you untouched. Wound up and wounded Nursing self-inflicted bruises … Continue reading

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He

Decades of Content isolation In his own skin Sometimes He forgets what His eyes look like In the reflection Of champagne flute bottoms He discovers himself Forgetting the only Soft soul Who ever wandered Into his life And wandered out … Continue reading

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Love Letters to a Man Named Breakfast

  I found you Scrawled on last page of a dictionary Bleeding inky blots, a Nick Carraway. You were not dark, dark chocolate Or bloody-red Cabernet. You were more sophisticated but Much less stylish. I told you impolitely That I … Continue reading

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