The flavor of lemons is bitter -
That’s why I don’t need the mints;
I locked away your blue sweater
With the lint still on the pillow.

I looked into the sea and saw the stars
Saltier than the tears and the lemon ****
We shared in the tearoom on that last Sunday –

There is a dry blue rose in the closet all pressed and crumbling.
Blind agony stumbles in frustration; your presents are my poison -
Now the porcelain needs dusting, the Valentines are jumbling.

The violin strings
Turned my fingers red…
Your music was a storm
on a flower bed.

I am
the slave of your seasons –
Are you my spring?
Am I blue and bold?
Are my snows melting?

Touch away my blues
To sweeter greens,
Let your soft summers
Drench my winter scenes.

In my battered soil
Is your flower bed –
For balms and herbs
I you raid.

I regret holding hands
Of those who could not be mine :
Only to desert them and be deserted in the middle of nowhere.
And when I found you, I did not want to desert and be deserted again.

Regret feels like a landslide
Loosening stones from strong, solid mountains --
I  do not want to feel it with you.

I want our seasons to be as pure as a crystal waterfall;
No terror of storms or landslides should haunt me.
The stormy seas of the Past made up of my tears
And the tears of others deserted : let them recede
As I walk on the golden shores of the Present with you.

Softly, the night passed without your voice:
The stars were drunk on the blue wine air
And lay like a Greek princess on a veil.
The moon was shimmering with a cool perfume,
The beach was scented with cold clear salt.
I reached out my hand to touch you
Although I know you were not there.
I held your pillow to me soaked with hot tears –
Softly, the night passed without your voice in my ear.

This, my love, is the city of sin,
This is where I am captured in.
Come, take my hand and walk with me.

Here’s the veil I use for other’s eyes,
So none should think me sinful and surmise
That I am the denizen of the darkest sea.

A white veil to cover a soul of blame?
You look at me and ask for my real name.
Which of Satan’s conquests may I be?

There’s my home: that’s a vanishing spire
My  years burn in smoke and pyre
You wish to rescue but there’s no key.

To save me, that’s your sole desire?
Are you the moon to which I aspire?
Come, leave my hand and you are free.

Why do you not listen to me?
You wish to rescue, but is there a key?
For  I am the denizen of the darkest sea.

I may not have the glamorous sheen,
The moves, the grooves of sweet sixteen,
I get angry soon and am suspiciously keen –
But I’m your Is, Will Be and Has-Been
So don’t send me away honey,
For I’m your crazy, wayward queen.

I fight with you and punch your nose,
Of my short temper you get overdose,
Just smile at other girls – you’ll know what I mean,
But don’t send me away honey –
I’m your crazy, wayward queen.

So what if in our last quarrel I pulled your hair?
When you walk, I worship the surrounding air;
You my soul, you’re tall and lean,
The one that I dreamt of as a lonely teen,
You’re my love and my war and everything in-between;
Don’t send me away honey,
For I’m your crazy, wayward queen.