And she sat there an innocent girl,
amongst many wolves.
all wanting a piece, some wanting her legs,
some what rest between her thighs,
some what lay under her breast plate.
she would no longer share herself
she was hers alone.
too brilliant, too special to share.
she will wait, wait for the one who held the key.
the one who held some understanding,
someone to help reach her spiritual plane.

blunt tips of bent cigarettes
were incisive as razors -
sliced wrists weeping
bright red sentences,
spattered unborn to blank paper
and turned into statues
so the dead would always remember
what they did,
never safe in the graves
in which they'd took refuge

but blue on blue
was ever her color;
blue on blues
seeping from old sins,
deep, hidden within spidery veins
that traced pale, soft *******,
finally filling mute lips as she slept,
subsumed in oceans of color,
blues that gave stories, as waves to shore
subsided, reclaiming their pain,
and cleansed sand once more

What end to life!
a collection of furies like stone turtles
arranged on the mantle -
just a few dozen last words
tucked among ads for
Old Spice and Polident tabs
unread, used to line
litter boxes in Cambridge
or wrap fresh fish at Hay Market;

then, someone pausing to wave at the sky
missed saving the drowning woman
by years, if he'd tried,
finding questions in every answer;
child curled in hard lap of his mother,
her cold affections of words
blew from dead lips like old wishes
without tender touch or wet kisses;
but that life continued,
if lived only blue on blue

her voice, in imagination,
is a moonlight sonata
to which I listen
when I'm alone, eyes closed;
covetous heart unwilling to share
painful beauty of the adagio,
explaining pain only angels know;

then, effortless transformation into
playful allegretto, delicate hands
already caressing bruised soul,
nestles fingers into mine;
we stroll, entwined as lovers will,
along lonely paths together,
each holding up the other,

building to passion of presto;
pace quickened, chastened steps
abandoned as flesh echoes
electric crescendos of bliss,
all that's real ceasing to exist
save sweet sweat,
fragrant breath of the other;
then I listen again,
to impossible moonlight,
and imagine.

Love can hang like icicles
Dripping, growing
With every melting droplet
Of my fear.

Stacked in chaotic patterns
Beaming, golden,
Calling joy to ring aloud
From each child.

Colors mimic melting rays
Warming, spinning
In a captivated dance
To catch your smile.

Love grows like me, like children,
Briskly, obscured,
Until it bumps your head as
One day you stand sure.

I have many nice jars,
All sparkling in a row on my shelf,
Lined up like the books above them,
Each kept safely out of harm’s way,
With no intentions on returning them,
These jars are not mine,
These jars have been stolen,
The culprit- none other than I,
Deviously I took one by one,
Thinking the glass would always sparkle and thrive,
My collection started scarce,
It then began to grow,
For my shelf would be quickly filled,
“This one looks good” I thought,
As I received my very first jar,
Until things went amiss,
I hurried to gather more,
Greedily I thought, “Maybe this one will do,
Ah, Indeed it looks better”,
However, this one was also askew,
My desire sought out another,
My shelf was slowly losing space,
I stepped back to take a look,
At all my pretty jars I’d obtained,
All neatly row by row,
I was terribly shocked,
When I realized what I’d done,
Each jar was filled with precious life,
Still pumping it’s fresh, red blood,
I had plundered so many,
Brought them destruction and strife,
I had bought out each one of their jars,
At any risky price,
I felt so sad for all those jars,
Wishing I could give them back,
And panic set in when I scanned the shelves,
And could not find my own,
The jar that had my name on it,
With a gold, glittery pen,
Was nowhere to be found,
And I ‘d give anything for my jar,
If it only could be done.

Sweet serendipity,
Oh remarkable boy,
The hold you have on me,
I am overjoyed,
But the question engraved in me,
Still lingers,
In the back of my ever doubtful,
And wandering mind,
Am I ready to fall again?
Fall to another one's grasps,
Left to the fate of those incandescent eyes,
That could either be the key,
To my euphoric wonderland,
Or a hell of a demise.

I am easily twisted up in one's cleverly crafted words,
They are played throughout  in my mind,
As if they were original penned by him,
And who knows maybe, quite possibly, they are.

But oh,
He is fine,
And I do find that I unwind,
Deep in the grasps of his comforting arms.

Could this possibly lead me astray?
From my sweet tooth's possible decay,
Of this pure bliss that seems endless,
What happens if it should disappear?
I suppose I'll be left with a cavity,
Far too soon for the young spirit,
Of these short but drawn out years.

Can I afford to be in such a mess?
For his touch seems worth all the rest,
His smile and persuasive ways,
Captivates me,
The butterflies inside.
Does he know I feel like this?
I do believe he does,
And if I had it my own way,
He would not leave.
Please stay.

A tasteful melody,
Strums in the back of my ever-wandering mind,
Haunting memories of bittersweet simplicity,
Heart-shattering strain and pain,
Agony and pain in each cord,
Each cord resounding with disdain,
As the beat drones on,
Oh it goes on for so long,
The tune dances and strolls along,
Repeating my familiar song.

An ever growing melody,
Lingers on my bursting chest,
Beautiful without rest it continues on,
Each note caressing the four, pale walls,
Seep through the cracks,
For it cannot be contained for long,
As the beat drones on,
Ever going strong,
The tune rejoices along,
To my ongoing song.

A rampant, restless melody,
Pounding my temples as if caving in,
Raging and contemplating sounds,
Oh it resounds quite loud,
The clashing and clanging of the cymbals,
Is almost captivating,
As the thunder joins the throng,
As the beat drones on,
Shouting as it rages along,
The clamor continues headstrong,
To my always familiar song.

A quite, calming melody,
The blissful peace it brings,
Stay awhile dear in this haven,
As the harps ring out and the lilies sigh,
Oh everybody knows this one,
It's symphony is crafted and strong,
As the beat drones on,
Such a lovely and beautiful song,
Glorious as the tune plays on,
To my favorite kind of song.

A fading melody,
Timeless cares of you and me,
The weather piano is drowning,
In a dark and dreadful song,
Weeping a lullaby never-ending,
The flowers sway along,
As the beat drones on,
It has gone on for so very long,
And the tune once sung is finally gone,
To my old, familiar song.