At the cheffette’s restaurant table down the harbor road.
Your nervous eyes said you love me,
Napkin holders and the salt and pepper jars,
Stood between us: Two people on a date.
St. Thomas and Christchurch.

Nervous sweat and sweaty palms—
So young, so unknowing, so innocent,
Blue happily but nervously times
Grueling stomachs, Emotional changes,
always lead to peer pressure

What a hell of an evening, under the other‘s gaze,
You remember the important events in my life,
I come to accept the sensitive side of yours

Your slender build: my blue bellbottom fitted jean
Curious as George in an animated scene
Your eyes was wider than any taskbar

You couldn’t make it through a first dinner date
I gobbled down my food with a glass of fruit drink
Easing my hunger and nervousness tension:

Of times so memorable, yet gone with the wind
Like platform shoes, and the disco satin jeans
All remove from our closets, like the baggage in our lives
Leaving tainted memories and nasty scars:
Here we are today, still eating at different tables.

There are words hiding
in the shadows of your body
Script too dark to write
for my wrist is too weak and ink too thin

Unstaged monologue
Unspoken song
Unwritten essay
Unravelled riddle

Grant me an inkling, my lover
a concession for my effort; a reward for my toil
So I can construe the omitted allusion
So I can hear the whispering voice of your soma

Touch me, with the tip of your fingers let,
tidal vibrations gently flow from your veins,
through your limbs straight into me. Throb,
pulsate, overwhelm me with your power, invade

my nerves with the notes you compose, oh
so delightfully. Inundate my tangible self
with your essence as palms, ineluctably reach
for more. Caress the skin, make me shiver, enjoy

the tremors of the chords you play, oh so sublimely.
Move closer, embrace me, cover me in
your sentiments, introduce me to them let’s,
listen to the pounding tune of palpitations

and when, my head starts spinning continue,
don’t pull away, excruciate your instrument,
perform your best, make it hard for me
to breathe but hold me, as I groan and lose

my grip, while knees inexorably weaken.

I used to keep score of every teardrop that would flow
Until like some punch drunk boxer you couldn't give no more
Bells they sounded and to corners we returned
Red to red dirt ground, blues retreat to blossom in bloom
As our hazy Mondays blur through to vague Thursdays
What we had in November was lost come September

A galaxy of oceans separate my disappointment from my disappointment in you
Yet for a chance encounter on a lonely Friday night
Our shadows would dance bathed in the crystal moonlight
For magic it weaves through the diamonds of a roadside bar
Our senses unravelled by some mystical cabalistic charm
So why should we ever try to make sense of it all
Seconds out - round two, don't ever stop, don't ever fall