Your words are precision Bombs from slow junkers,
Exploding between my ears. there are no bunkers.
My response tumbles out stuttering like anti aircraft nests.
They hit smoke at best.

The alarms in my brain go off suppressed by tears discharged
Heart, Trust, Ego, Friends over the years the shards.......
Your armaments know where to hit and cause most damage,
The sarcasm of your arsenic love language.

Plumes of fiery emotion flare up, soon loves smoldering cracks .
I dodge your heat seeking adjectives, they encircle in packs.
Cold nights afloat clinging to this yellow deflated ego. falters
Awaiting hope in pirated waters.

Our love is war

The poems that I saved today,
Rescued from a hilly grave.
slave away only for me now,
go make new friends and bring them here,

Fly.................

The gilded opening is terse and with age defined,
Locking away the pathway from a golden mind,
Hairlike roots of tiny letters form a braid,
Ficus-ing along stretching prongs of Purple and Jade,

Pushing they gather and spider around its ovate curves,
occasioning sprouts from cracks lips perturbed,
grammarized rain fertilizing delicate pods of flesh,
blossoming frosty lemon blooms of T's R's come to rest,

The bunched words hanging, dangling like grapes, of frailty,
dipping on fickle branches barely holding on to reality,
threatening to fall like daggered swords,
But alas are some silently whispered Jamaican words

I whispered behind sunglasses
like a light wind into my beloved's ear,
But who would be King? her smart retort.
My Lord upon on that chair?

I'd give you a golden palace I said,
She whispered your such a ****,
We'd have to build a great stone wall high,
a fort to keep away all sorts

We walked along the promenade,
past the paisley clad natives in the square
traipsing places of the colourful past
where held once saints in despair.

The bouquets of Jasmine, Rosemary in a porcelain vase
The feeling of a lovers taut hand
The fragrance of the past,
The serenade of violins in a merry band.

I whisper again..................
You would still be Queen.... and the response a sigh

The one I show my poems on Crepe paper
The one who snickers at my jokes
The one who understands I'll call you later.
The one who gives me real life pokes

The one who's kisses are bubblegum
The one who's my Pirates of The C companion
The one who holds my extra set of keys
The one who's dress brings me to my knees.

My Girl Monday........... :)