“Do you not find it awkward that gravity is keeping us where we don’t want to be?”
“Maybe,” she said.
The coffee was murkier than usual.
I centered my cup on the placemat
fixed my hand into a Y
and drew a decorated dragon on the table with my fingertip.
Our eyes couldn’t bear to look at each other.
“This is not my idea of love,” I refuted.
She pushed her coffee away and tucked her head down crying.
A spoon was clenched firmly in the fist she used to cover her eyes.
I couldn’t console her.
Magnets don’t apologize for not attracting.
Besides, I’m weak enough to kiss her if she would put the spoon down.
It shined every time the tears jerked her around
like an oversized saber sharp enough to keep me at bay.
She’ll never put the spoon down.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
King of Condescending
When spoke of
his lesser qualities were thrown upon
the same pyre as his achievements.
“My thrown reeks of treason and stale farts,” he spake.
A shallow grave for one born for servitude.
“Bring me the Fig Newtons and lead me to my deathbed.”
The King of Condescending was gout ridden, yet sovereign.
“Hold me high above waterfalls,” said he,
“and live bent in laughter.”
“To the cat my kingdom
to the jester my crown.”
An embellished ending to an undiscovered genius.
his lesser qualities were thrown upon
the same pyre as his achievements.
“My thrown reeks of treason and stale farts,” he spake.
A shallow grave for one born for servitude.
“Bring me the Fig Newtons and lead me to my deathbed.”
The King of Condescending was gout ridden, yet sovereign.
“Hold me high above waterfalls,” said he,
“and live bent in laughter.”
“To the cat my kingdom
to the jester my crown.”
An embellished ending to an undiscovered genius.
Song of an Affair
Lying inside the brazen shine of sun
head resting at the root of our favorite maple
feet crossed and waving under the clouds.
Argue the scent of new denim on warm days.
Shiny gold locks spill into the grass
and the driftwood fence will have no part of it.
When she didn’t look back
I forgot which way was up
then rested beside the tulips
for God knows how long.
We would gather beneath trees
to laugh at sensibility
play alchemist with our friendship
melting lust into love.
She rested her temple on my forearm
heavy with the life she had already created.
I whispered with certainty that
fear is merely a picture in the locket you wear beneath your sweater.
We bid a fond goodbye to the sunlit grass and trees
that played host to our love.
The summer moon whisked us into the dusk
serenaded by the orchards evening orchestra.
Written beneath each stone and on every leaf left to fall
is the memory of each day spent beneath the heavens.
Recorded deep within time’s heart
read only by the souls of us who remember.
head resting at the root of our favorite maple
feet crossed and waving under the clouds.
Argue the scent of new denim on warm days.
Shiny gold locks spill into the grass
and the driftwood fence will have no part of it.
When she didn’t look back
I forgot which way was up
then rested beside the tulips
for God knows how long.
We would gather beneath trees
to laugh at sensibility
play alchemist with our friendship
melting lust into love.
She rested her temple on my forearm
heavy with the life she had already created.
I whispered with certainty that
fear is merely a picture in the locket you wear beneath your sweater.
We bid a fond goodbye to the sunlit grass and trees
that played host to our love.
The summer moon whisked us into the dusk
serenaded by the orchards evening orchestra.
Written beneath each stone and on every leaf left to fall
is the memory of each day spent beneath the heavens.
Recorded deep within time’s heart
read only by the souls of us who remember.
Mirror
The crack in my mirror
weaves around my shoulder
through my heart.
Standing before the distorted reflection
waiting for blood to drip from the wound
holding still enough to imagine
long enough to remember.
Some mornings it runs through my face
and I feel beautiful
different than the people
driving past my window.
Beautiful like an extinguished cigarette
curled up and peaceful
having lived out its existence
with purpose.
When I am finally pulled from the mirror
I want to burn just long enough
to be beautiful
then curl up
peacefully.
weaves around my shoulder
through my heart.
Standing before the distorted reflection
waiting for blood to drip from the wound
holding still enough to imagine
long enough to remember.
Some mornings it runs through my face
and I feel beautiful
different than the people
driving past my window.
Beautiful like an extinguished cigarette
curled up and peaceful
having lived out its existence
with purpose.
When I am finally pulled from the mirror
I want to burn just long enough
to be beautiful
then curl up
peacefully.
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