i can taste your skin
although I've never had the pleasure
i've worshipped you
as an antique treasure

the wind teases me
with whiffs of your scent
savoring in this goodness
assures me this was meant

a heavenly body
laying besides mine
glistening gold
from citrus sunshsine

i can feel you here
although you are gone
never tell the secrets
which inhabit my home

dark magenta hues
hung above the eastern hills
on that August eve

Last year
you weren't here
for my birthday. I
understood, of course, even though
it hurt just a bit. When
we talked on the phone, you
told me when you returned, we
would do something together, and
I giggled, playing through my mind
the word you used, tasting
its heavy cream on tongue,
"decadent."

Last year
you returned
and you had forgotten
your promise. I understood,
of course, even though it hurt
more than just a bit. You were
busy, though time for criticism and
loud shouting matches and afterwards,
muffled sobbing into my pillow was always
made. In the back of my mind I
kept waiting for an acknowledgment,
maybe, if I was feeling optimistic,
even an apology. It never came. My hope, turned
decrepit.

This year
I look back
at what could have been,
and I understand, of course, but
memories of my blind faith in you hurt
the dying spark of optimism, the one
you haven't killed off, yet. Now,
I am the one who will not be here
for my birthday. You, wanting
only an excuse, will try and gift me with
your presence, commit actions
in my name, actions I do not want. Our love
lost, I do not ask if ever it existed, I know
the affirmative will only hurt me. We
are so shattered, we are far past
the point of being
Delicate.

Times were simpler then.
You were my queen,
I was your king,
we treated each other
like royalty.

I saw your feminine-beauty
beneath your flowing sun dress,
succumbed to your magical-ways,
we played intimate under the moon.

There was never any fight,
you took me constantly
over the rainbow,
we bit lips in ecstasy.
But did you ever really know
how much I truly loved you?

I sit alone now watching the leaves fall,
still wondering about you,
your sweet-ways,
how we used to play at night.

I can taste your smile
in the cold December wind,
it makes me warm,
takes my breath away!

And shivering I think
about the simplicity
of what we once had,
so long ago.

Jealousy
Is not a hatred
Of another
And their possessions

Jealousy
Is a hatred
Of one's self
For lacking
Something
That another has

I am jealous of her
Because your friendship with her
Is easy
Simple
The way we used to be
I hate myself
Because I cannot
Be that good
To you
Or for you
And I'll never forgive myself for it