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she sat at 2B
Ljubljana to London Stanstead
straight and still
immaculately dressed
a lady of a certain age
intent to carry it with grace
hair so blonde
and inappropriately long
makeups filler
thickly clung to lines
of a life lived in simpler times
her fingers encrusted with jewels
decades of love adorned upon
  now seated amongst
  the business trough
here she was
beauty queen of her day

this is not to objectify
but differentiate
the greatest of all artistic endevour
to be respected
admired from afar
but above all
may it appreciate within
so take us back
some 30 years or more  
to Yugoslavia
and talks of revolution
from this beauty queens
city retreat
let my whispered words
seep through the ages
for that you may feel
all that you are
then and now
with ferocious pride
let you love this beauty possessed
so that future mirrors
senses and memories
may to you never portray
the ravages of bitter time

now this flight
is destined to land
as the stewardess she calls its' time
you ask my assistance
to retrieve your case
thanking me through
a cracked half smile
two strangers their turn
to disembark
as now we must end
this inconsequential affair
Crowds gather in the waiting train
Kids fidgeting
Mothers panicking
Man with eyes of steel
glares at me from the opposite seat
Suddenly the train lurches forward
quickly gathering speed
All the tension seems to lift
Kids settle down
Mothers look out of the window
Man opposite puts his head back
and closes his eyes
Yes, the journey has now begun
 May 2018 John Michael Biely
r
I visualize you
who I will never know,
Constant Stranger
I call you, I imagine
you when I write
and to think, you
will never know me
like the few who
I am close to, those
who say: I don't
understand what you
are talking about,
but I know what you
mean...you know
there is no other poet
on earth like me
and I know there is
no other poem in the uni-
verse just like you
and every two folks
have there own way
of loving, the poet
and the poem know
what they like, like
the kind that takes us
into different and strange
countries until we realize
at midnight, we are alone,
you and I, Constant Stranger,
anonymous mates whose love
can never be consummated.
This poem speaks of love between the poet and the poem not yet written, but wanted in the way we find ourselves wanting that anonymous, perfect lover somewhere out there in the uni-
verse.  Or something like that.  You may not understand what I'm saying, but I hope you know what I mean, Constant Strangers, poets and poems all, friends in our uni-verse, write me that perfect pome.
 May 2018 John Michael Biely
Lily
I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.
I wish that Katelyn lived closer

Drunk dialing would go a little more smoothly
for me if she at least lived in a neighboring city
I said I would crawl to you and I would
but I'd hardly make it to the end of the street
let alone over the state line before inevitable collapse

I wish that Kristi didn't disappear

My mind would be a little more at ease if I knew
why you vanished in the first place
Questions would have answers
ego would be pieced back together and
that foolish hopeful flame would (hopefully) be extinguished

I wish that Caitlyn wasn't so sweet

a cavity of the heart made the sugar maddening
but you still were so true
sometimes I find myself wanting that madness again
to be alone in company and calamity,
to feel someone's gaze in total love and acceptance;
most times I don't

I wish that Angie wasn't spoken for

I respect your loyalty, I do
You don't come by that very often
But don't you just want to cast that aside?
Don't you want to succumb and give in?
Just this once, let your desires win
But that's just my desire talking
Don't listen

I wish I wasn't so convinced now, so cold

All I know is the cruelty buried
underneath mesmerizing complexities

I also wish my **** didn't burn so bad coming out,
so, now I don't know what to think anymore
It's not just about the butterflies in your stomach.
It's also about the peace in your heart,
the calm in your mind.
If you miss one then it's not right.
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