She loved the mesh of hair over her eyes.

My hair is all messed up, she smiled
I'm enmeshed in love, she kept smiling.

The winds rushed past
piercing her with kisses.

There goes the girl
the sky parted the clouds to see
her cheeks are sunset blush.

The birds hovered low over her.

They cackled and the air rippled.

The engine in awed silence
felt her weight.

Oh she weighs so low
light with the burden of love.

Over the bridge and down the highway
she melted in the crisp autumn glow
and he would never know
behind him she rose and fell
in that only once ride
with him.

Do I know you?
Do I owe you?
We look at each other.
Not in the eyes, but in nothingness.
We are together bound, all year round.

Do I know you?
We look at each other.
Do I owe you?
He does not bother.
We look at each other.
Not in the eyes, but in shyness.
His wealth mutually consumed.
Poor us so greedy at our presence both.

And my addicted admiration,
since I love all subjects,
who are full of the honest knowledge of certain things,
mostly the own learned object,
that made their living
and together with that OUR living
in wealth and luxury,

this is not concerning materialism,
but another ISM like ego-ism.

Since I know wealth, richdom from kidhood constantly.
And his old-fashioned love to the brim,

we are together tied,
all the time a bit horrified, it’s not one-sided,
visa versa all years round bound

These last years, the Lord gave us greatest bless,
we look at each other, the greatest impulse, but our eyes  
unclothing languidly,
which is known less.

I can assure you,
not as mean as the rest of mankind,
but there’s a true kind

like in war’s strategy:
untrained soldiers sent to war
and before they know
no much sorrow of their sudden death
don’t you know how that felt?
Their death?

As if you’re bereaved,
and before you’ll know
you’ll get a wreath,
without much sorrow,
on your doormat

it isn’t that bad….

BUT the most important subject
of these all DO I….
is LOVE that matters, yes!

All these death soldiers
or untrained men on war-paths
had been loved by their wives and kids,
these looked like tiny-bits,

that’s bulsh-t,
but in reality, it’s a POST-IT!

Now all that matters here,
is only that I have ever loved you

I have known so many, but I still know
that YOU are the most loved by me

and still, I do....cherish you
that you must know….


© Sylvia Frances Chan
Copyright Protected

I found an old homesite
in the woods,
next to a church, or at least
what looked
like the remains of one

Rocks overgrown with weeds
and vines, a doorway
leading nowhere
in either direction, and

I think
I thought
I was maybe Christ

I think there were birds taking flight
from my open hands

The laughter of children
buried like bones
beneath
the terrible blue sky.