my first carriage ride*
Departing is the summer's balmy air
to welcome cracking cold and falling leaves.
Before we left my my mother'd taken care
to fasten on my mittens to my sleeves.

The foliage was bright, the air was brisk
I walked between my parents faint-clenched hands
and watched the business people rush and whisk
to work. But we were there with different plans:

My poppa propped me up into the car.
the horses both were brown and standing stiff
but like the whirling leaves of fall thus far
My nerves were buzzing crazy. Then a whiff

of something as the carriage moved along
I could not hold my breath for quite that long.

summer love*
Simply in the sun-warmed grass all day
we'd sit, and talk about some useless ****.
And in my jeep I drove you to the bay
to watch the sunset while we shared a bit

of wine. We laid down in that cooling night;
I watched your gentle lips move when you talked.
I told you that I never felt as right,
as when we kissed. My fingers interlocked

with yours; I brushed your beachy hair away
and shared a kiss that may have been our last.
I held you in my arms until the day
peeked through. We knew the sunrise soon would pass

like this. And though we think it isn't fair
departing is the summer's balmy air.

a fairy I cannot catch*
It taunts my curious eyes in blossomed green;
that light elusive sprite which mocks my sight,
in gardens where that fae comes out at night
to dance among the flowers' subtle sheen.

This fairy is disguised by buzzing lamps;
by day she hides in flapping butterflies.
In every blade of dewey grass and damp
reflective flower's gloss she hides. She dies

whenever someone says they don't believe;
as children wish on dandelions, she lives.
And flower's dust is magic for her breed:
spring's silent sparkling fairies. She gives

me joy in every fleeting light I see;
I cannot help but love her mystery.

a beauty out of my league*
To show desire's poison, for our sake
she'd wink and make us think we stood a chance.
But sweet as honey, April, seemed to make
every hopeful guy compelled to dance

for her. We were her loyal worker bees
and she the queen would reap the floral sweets.
I caught a sight within a balmy breeze
of April's flowing hair in tempting heat.

I stood away where blocked behind a fir
I picked a daisy from the soft green grass;
I never got the nerve to talk to her,
too stunned and shy I let the moment pass.

Her sight is so compelling, sweet and mean,
It taunts my curious eyes in blossomed green.

on Narcissus*
The sort of love that's lust is most unplanned.
The self's the harshest lover there could be.
"There is no beauty more than thou I see!"
He calls back to me, "Thou I see!" His hand
outstretched is soft and reaching towards me,
and I reach mine to beauty young and free.
His muscled body causes mine to stand.

But when I touch this creature fair and strong,
that image scatters; beauty must be shy.
When he returns, my passion cramped too long –
I need those rosy lips before I die.

To lust and pride Narcissus was a slave –
but daffodils are growing at his grave
to show desire's poison for our sake.

when we met again*
In February's blank and blissful air,
my inhalations thin and quick and dry
were only halted by your frigid stare;
to me they wondered where I'd gone and why.

That one-night-stand was fun for both of us,
though neither of us seemed too satisfied;
when your first words burst out within the hush
my face grew warm and, caught off guard, I sighed.

"It's Valentine's," you said; your smile said
much more. "I figured we could take a walk,
cause what we did before was fun. You're red?"
We both knew why, but still I couldn't talk.

I could not reason why she grabbed my hand.
The sort of love that's lust is most unplanned.

when she crossed the line*
Exactly as expected it would be
a snowy Christmas, white and colored bright;
(by strict request) I hung her favorite lights
about the house, so that the neighbors see
together we're a happy family.
She'd picked her gift, but what a sour sight
when, Christmas day, I didn't get it right.
And all was fine until she asked of me –

the last she'd ever ask of me. She tells
me "I don't like your underwear." She reels
off, "we compromise our comfort" (that bold
*****). "I'll be your man, but know my manhood holds.
I'll never change my boxer briefs" which feel,
in icy weather, warming." Comfort yields.

the morning after New Year’s Eve*
In icy weather, warming comfort yields
companionship, hot chocolate,
love. A promise to himself revealed
(again) how resolutions turn to ****.

He poorly planned for no more one-night-stands,
but woke up with a head too hard to think
He slowly dressed and thought it was his man's
duty to bring her something hot to drink.

This year she hoped she wouldn't sleep with *******.
She hid her head in ***-swapped sheets, and cried
inside. He left the bed; she knew he'd lied:
"I'll be right back with coffee and some rolls."

Surprised the lovers'd catch each other's stare
In February's blank and blissful air.

The fireworks are bursting in the sky,
(like breadcrumbs kids are throwing in the bay,
to fly in fun and freedom of July)
like fish we rush to see surprises blast away.

We foolish, footless bandits in the night
were playing spin the bottle under trees.
Like fireflies and glow-sticks, we were bright,
But now we've lost ourselves and lost our keys.

You, gone with summers past and freedom's will
have lost the will to seek and seek a thrill.
And strapped into conformity, you're dying.
You're lying. With each dollar earned you ****
that child that your son is. Sighing,
you wanted to play hard ball, but no one's buying.

That rose perfume inclines a love divine
which flies in natural drifting with the birds
who perch themselves alight with silver chimes
unspoken, ringing silence though no words –

pop! The question he meant to always ask
was if she liked, him liked him. Like a rose
he picked – so precious but it couldn't last –
his fleeting presence shipped away in rows
unbeautifully unpacked until it passed.

They'll gather all life's mysteries – her eyes –
and still in love confound him after all
and sitting on a park bench you'll recall:

the hands on sailing ships all wave goodbye
the fireworks are bursting in the sky.