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she texts me
from the kitchen:
inviting me to share
a breakfast of eggs.
whose?
i wonder,
idly speculating
is this a come-on?
i'm sure of it when
she follows up with:
i'm open to pregnant conversation
sunny side up
there's a band-aid on my finger
where you cut me yesterday
slicing rotten pieces
of my vegetables away

you didn't even notice
it's your sweet nearsighted way
so no drama was enacted
and i had no need to say--
The challenge: write a poem in less than 15 minutes!
All rights to this magnificent gem reserved by the author.
My man,
play!
           Forest      
                          Wind      
                           ­                 Life
                                   Car      
                     Spray            
      Knife
gorgeous blues
(symphony from love)
drunk
like hot chocolate
from my fridge magnet poetry, 2014. All rights reserved by the author.
I wanted to
come to your
door
and
urge you ,
"lie with me."

I wanted to
undo your blouse,
release your
*******,
feel your *******
brush my chest.

I wanted to
deeply
kiss
and tenderly
caress
all of
you,
holding you,
my beloved wife,
so very
close.
I want to
feel your pleasure.
I want to
be your lover
once more.
I desperately want
you to
love
me.

But
I didn't
knock on your
door.
I was
sure
you'd say
"No!"
and turn me
away
to lie
alone
again,
adrift
on the
empty
raft
of our big
wedding bed
as I do
every night,
longing for
the closeness
and love
you say
I
have destroyed.

Instead,
I finished the wine.
There was just
one last
glass.
I sipped it
while I reviewed
my good
old songs.
The wine worked,
I felt like
singing,
and I wondered:
what am I doing
here?

I have no
idea
what I have
done
or not done
to alienate you,
my most beloved
alien.

For me
you are the only
woman--
so
righteously
angelic,
yet
so
cruel
in your
truth speaking.

Is it time to mourn
That never again
will you hold me
inside your
soft
sanctuary,
never again
will we share
the breathless
convergence
of flesh and
spirit?

Though
I may not
deserve
your love's  
benediction,
it is what
I most
ardently
desire
now
and
for which
I will
long
forever.
For S., 2002.
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson.  All rights reserved by the author.
I found your hand
sleeping
like five birds
in a tree
(heads tucked under wings).

I did not wish to startle them
so I stood near, singing very softly
an old love song.

Slowly they woke into
their own sunrise.
Together, singing, they
flew down
on iridescent wings,
bringing me
your touch of heaven
(and, in that old love song,
the sweet harmonies
of love's dawn).
For Ann Marie
con tutto amore
No, I can't.
You're tearing
the gossamer thread
woven of love's dreams,
that knit our separate hearts
into one,
shining, bright and clear,
golden
glowing
with all the tenderness we gave
freely, without any hesitation,
without forgiveness, in our
lonely hearts' "YES!"
as we ran like kids
hand in hand
into summer.

I beg of you-- don't
please don't
tear these
slender
golden
threads
asunder!
Follow
them,
dare to
trust and
believe in them-
they will unite our hearts again.
Give yourself to love--
and Love will stay,
will give us
what we need
to become one
with each other
and with Love itself.

I love you too much
to just let you go,
so I couldn't
I couldn't let this night go by.
for A.M.J.
your hip's irresistible curve
calls me, "come and revel
in the magic of your love!"

my fingertips' caresses
whisper adoration,  
each finger
a laser shining
love deep into
your every cell,
igniting a wild fire
that awakens you,
consuming
your sleepiness

as you
waken,
turn,
and our lips meet,
we burst into golden fire.
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