~

Unlike you

Hovering like a gnat that finds a face irresistible
Swatting frantically does no good as
insects will be insects and annoying is part of their plan

As it seems each day I find a new offering unfolding its wings,
buzzing about with all of its ***** laundry,
as if poetry has become merely a tool to harass

Finding little folders to slide into…highlighting
each word of bin fodder, old but new
hoping for accolades in lemonade fashion

Funny how that works as bitter becomes the norm,
never letting go of that scent that attracts you…
whatever it is about the human aroma you find so pleasing

Perhaps it is that it will never be you…insect,
oh little gnat of warm summer zephyrs failing to flutter by
lost within the deep confines of a posies’ petals

To ruin our summer faire, our picnic in the sun
can not happen for you see we are happy
in our own skin, with its wondrous fragrance…unlike you

Would you have
     our stars not shine?
Would you have darkness
      be your shrine?

r ~ 5/5/14

I dream of going far away.
Plunging into the grandeur
And the vastness
Of the world.
I am ready to leave this place;
I am ready, I say,
To be away.

I will write and draw,
And take drugs with strangers.
I will sleep on the beach,
Bathe in rivers,
And plunge into nature,
Away from four walls,
From screens and cars,
And toward greenery and stars;
Splendid laughter and epiphanies
Spilling from the ether,
Behind trees and over mountains,
In the silent water of calm lakes,
And in the crimson sky
Of some northwestern twilight.

I will wander abandoned roads
And drink coffee in midnight diners
Thousands of miles from home,
For the road beckons,
And the moon never waits.

The wanderlust of youth
Is nothing to waste.

her soft petals unfurled and curled open
the nectar drops released themselves clinging to her edges
till the last pull of gravity won its persistent gentle cajoling
the warm scent filled the air surrounding her
exotically hypnotic drawn like a moth
it was at this moment his lips brushed her tendrils
and drawn in, he drank deeply till drunk with ****** love.

I thirst for words,
A thirst you have begun to quench.
It is a need of the literate, I suppose,
To inspire romantic prose.
A machine gun has proven to not be enough,
Only a pen has sufficed to capture my love-
A man who is man in all the right ways,
Who tugs at my heart in all the right places.

I covet an equal,
In content and not just circumstance.
It is the dream of the different, I think,
To desire the sameness a lover can bring.
The opposite tried, I must now turn to kindred,
As an audacious adventurer long last made timid-
I give myself unto this writer's loving,
That he may know just how to love me.

Words flow like wine,
From depths that rival the ocean's heart.
Colored shades of blue and red,
The hues of love and passion,
No longer unrequited, but-
Suppose the rainbow turns shades of grey,
And the sweet wine becomes ashes?
Suppose seas dry into mere lakes?
Suppose the love becomes indifference,
And the passion turns to lust and is all that remains?
Suppose our words run out or are written on a different page?

I was in love with another, once,
The yellow of the rainbow seemed like gold.
The wine that made us heady tasted like Moscato,
And our love burned urgent like a fire that never had a chance to hold.
It burned out, extinguished
By not a lake, but just a puddle,
And we were left two bodies, unconnected
By the faintest common thoughts, and our souls seemed strangers.
I then saw you, and rediscovered
What I'd forgotten long ago,
But suppose what brought us two together
Happens to us, with someones other?

Grey skies stretch
across the horizon
with no spot of blue.

Here I am left here
on this barren island
& all I can think of is you.

I can smell you in the gale,
you were a tempest,
a force of nature
& I miss you
watching the rain.

My words are tears that,
flow down through my pen.

Juliette's back
is a shapely cello.
Her hair trailing softly
plays a deep, sad,
mahogany melody.
'La musique malheureuse'
her soul whispers.

But in the morning
she will stretch out,
throw the curtains wide
and light will shine through her.
When she speaks
her harp-like heart
will play a pretty tune.