Homeless

I am penniless
yet wealthy beyond my peers.
Measured not in tokens of gold
but in tallies of smiles
your gentle face has
stamped upon my chest.
To most, if not all,
you are your breasts,
your ass,
to me, too, you are those things,
but a woman first.
A butterfly
floating from one flower to the next
kissing them with your silky wings.
I confess to be uncontented
by the practical distance
between your hips and mine.
Homelessly, I await at your door
begging shelter, warmth,
within your temple.

Meadow Street

Last night
you came
in my sleep
whispering how much
you had missed
our precious time.
First in jeans
then in a long black
dress outlined
in silver sequins,
hugging close.
We laughed
as children playing.

Last night
a beast
in my mind,
reality's vicious monster,
lie in the dark,
waiting to pounce
on us two
unsuspecting deer
as we frolicked
under the moon.
Lips licking.

Last night
I awoke
prey to sand
slipping through,
drowning in sunlight,
gasping for night,
enslaved in
a foreign home,
chained fast to
a strange bed.
Victimized by the sun.

The Professor

Wear Dasani like a dress.
Let it cover your curves,
your hair.
Let it roll off your roof
spilling to the ground.
Let it drip down the windows
of your church through the cracks.
Honor God
call out to him, or her.
Deep inside the hourglass
where time is measured in breath
and in beads of sweat.

Bette Davis

Remember the night
your kitchen became
our theater?
When the spotlight
beamed down on us,
Redding blue echoes
these arms of mine.
Like an alcoholic
resisting drink-
and growing weaker
with every breath
of your hair.
The memory
sickens the soul-
these moments-
and others-
though beautiful,
are hacked up
and amputated
because of gangrene.
Like waves
these infectious
reminders of the dark
dwindle in time
giving-in to blissfulness
and heartache,
only to return
perfectly timed
without forgiveness.

Fashion

An Asian woman
offered to cut
my hair today
for ten dollars.
I would, gladly,
but my hair is
numerous, and thick,
and her fingers are worn.
Such a silly thing it is
to wear hats.

Pretenses

Another warm day
and you come out
with your friends.
I saw you smiling
was it for me?
What do your friends think?
Do they long for my hands?
We could all dance together
the four of us.
We could lie in the grass
warming in the sun
and in each other.
Passerbys could jealously stare
pointing fingers at
the lines of our sonnet.
You and your friends
could fall from the tree-
ripened red passion fruit-
lusciously melting in my mouth.
We could be stringless puppets,
stringing each other along,
trading empty promises
one coffee ground at a time.

My blue notebook

If you would draw me
one single picture
simplistic or detailed
from it I would write
words that would impress.
You would see through
my lines of lust
to the heart of the matter.
I'm aware that your art
may well waite on mine
thereby slowly slipping away.
Yet this love for you
paralyzes me with fears
I've not known before.
I feel you curiously
looking at my blue notebook,
trying to catch a glimpse
inside my pen's process.
I walk away
leaving it wide open
knowing you'll be laughing
when I return.
Perhaps instead you'll
pick it up
and draw me a picture.

Hourglass

What a beautiful day this is.
Birds chirping, trees lit-up,
flips flopping,
but my eyes leak
with the realization that
goodbye is coming.
Goodbye to you
the place that has
sheltered me
and inspired
my greatest work.
From the beginning
our time was borrowed
but seemed infinite.
We were always
one card shy of
our full house.

The cure

Softly spoken through
gentle lips, softly sweet.
Softly gazing through
tender eyes, softly sweet.

Simply resting upon
gentle frame, simply sweet.
Simply held-up within
tender lace, simply sweet.

Who has the right
to say which
promises are sacred?

Subtle smiles stolen
from behind, so subtle.
Subtle smiles resent
gentle sender, ever subtle.

Simply soft,
gentle, tender and
softly simple.

Koi Bito

Beneath the warming sunlight
Asian leaves wave hello,
calling me to rest
in the bosom of her limbs.
It is a lucid invitation
and i would be a fool
to think that the offer
was given to me alone.
Many rest in her shade
while the birds of spring
sing the chorus of new life.
Yet I am unable to believe
anyone else could ever
be so lucky as I.
You smile and admire yourself
through the rippled reflection.
I want so badly to uproot you-
to take you home-
and place you bedside.
But you are married
to your place by the lake.
And I am married
to mine.

A stolen bike

A very dear friend
once had the most
beautiful bike
I had ever seen.
I used to watch
him with it, wishing
I could ring the bell
and change the gears.
Then one day
while my friend
was away for the
summer, I went
to his house and
stole his bike.
I rode it
over and over
until the tread
had worn out.
He knew,
when he returned
and saw his bike
used and unlocked,
he knew it had
been steered by my
hand. But I never
confirmed my act-
only my love
for that beautiful bike.

Hindsight

I walked blindly
today into a
garbage dump
tripping over
countless doggy bags
and wayward dolls.
Had I only known
that the seeing
eye dog that
was sold to me
was in fact
blinder than I was
I might have
brought my cane
and taken the
bus instead.

What I'm really saying

If I tell you you look nice
you would say it's been
said a thousand times like that.
If I whisper I love you
you might say it's been
whispered a million times like that.

But
What if I look deeply at you
and ask for the chance to honor
your darkness and light,
with every breath and step
until I speak and walk no more?

Well now,
then you might say that no man
has ever loved you
as completely as I.

So my dear, when I say
you look nice
you will know
what I'm really saying
is that I'll love you always.

End Page

So it is that my hours
and countless moments of fantasy
culminate here, in the
last page of my blue notebook.
Kisses, one after another,
for the one or two times
you smile each week.
Where will your smiles go
from here? Who will write
of your beauty when I've gone?
Someone should.
Someone should grab
a blue notebook and write how
amazing these peaks are to behold.
Yet I, your most loyal
surely will be forgotten
for a more impressive group of letters.

Love Song

I remember now how cold winters can be here.
The wind has a presence, a certain motivation.
It can be violent-or subtle-or both.
Patiently, it will search out the cracks in your layers,
to find where you are most vulnerable.
My wine helps, or so it seems, at night
when my reflection's transparency is delicious.
To me, you are in hell-against all help to remove you-
yet I would stay there and burn for an eternity
if you walked me through.

Oh sweet one, why do we kid ourselves
and waste smiles on others we know
are unmatched?
Have we chased our dreams to safer deposits? Why?
Have you and I not learned yet
we were meant to be?
How many times must fate refill our glass
before finally bellowing last call?
Why exhale another breath
if it's not returned with your own against my face?

Neither is more to blame,
each has cast the other
aside at different times.