The night is low
I could have drowned  
In nocturnal sounds
But they seem not enough
My cradle doesn’t send me drifting.
.
It is like a bout of vertigo...
The moment I close my eyes,
My head starts whirling
My thoughts start spinning
Up there in the ceiling,
I see your face, smiling,
Teasing,
Pleasing,
Ripping my heart apart
Leaving me alone in the dark.

Cold hands, cold sweat,
Unfocused mind...restless feet,
How could I have allowed this
To happen to me?

Why did I?
This is insane.

They say there is beauty
In all these senseless folly,
But it is one I am unable to see.
It surely *****, to be in love...so madly.

Sally


Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I see the sky
in hues of blue,
so vast...
so unreachable...
I look at it on a clear day
and I travel along with my eyes....
I start chasing rainbows
hoping to find at the end,
my *** of gold......YOU!

Sally



Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

How intimate this is
to bath with another
the wetness of me
surrounding you
with the wetness from the shower head

I brought you up
as you lifted me out
wanting this upon the floor
I whispered no with my fingers down your back
and you leaned me against the wall

The glass in the room
seemed to echo my moans
the acoustics so gentle
as our bodies beated out the rhythm
of an escalating in and out

We were building up a sweat
from the steam and our heat
and in heat we were
for I came as you were in me
and you kissed me then

My fingers through your hair
and my walls vibrated
as you came into me hard and spent
I felt it all in me
How intimate this is

I miss you.
But only sometimes.
I miss you when I float downstairs and glance
at your grandmother's
grandfather clock.
I miss you when the breeze comes in.
I miss you when the sun grins
and when it doesn't.
I miss you when the heavens drip.
I miss you when my eyes are open,
I miss you when I'm dreaming,
because I tend to dream about you.
I miss you when I'm busy.
I miss you when I'm alone with the things I say to myself.
And I say to myself,
I miss you.
But only sometimes.

You write poems of
love in the morning and
the soft fall of rain but
I can read.
I can read what you've erased
the lines you don't want us to see
I take note of these and
put your invisible words together
and read your true words.
And I see that
you write with red ink.