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  Jul 2017 Pat
wordvango
what have the fingers to say
with their anonymous scribblings when
I close my eyes and let them fly
thinking mostly with fingernails
on a chalkboard just letting them cry
I don't  outline my subject or have a theme when I
wash my hands stretch my digits out
let them loose to do their texting
watch dense as mercury on Mars from here
their words surprising the meaning come from behind
the aching tendonitis the arthritis spasms
those fingerprints on the keys of my worn off identity
I claim nothing
almost not me
  Jul 2017 Pat
Liz Carlson
I wrote you a note at 5 am,
you read it,
with no reply.
Before you left you asked for a picture of the two of us.
I made a joke and we laughed through the pictures.
But all that I could think about was
how it felt to have your arm around me.
It was holding me,
as I held you.
I wish I could go back to that moment,
but it's gone.

When we said our goodbyes,
it hurt so much.
I wanted to tell you so many things,
but time was running out.
I hugged you so many times,
you thought it was strange.

As soon as you walked away,
my heart felt empty;
I missed your presence already.
We touched hands as you drove away
in that big green van.
I ran after you,
as did other friends.
But you were gone.

I can still see your eyes gazing into mine,
and your oh so sweet smile;
but you're gone.
Nowhere to be seen.
  Jul 2017 Pat
sabrina flowers
I've never been good at
Being touched.

Though the fingers
Of endless suitors
Have traced incomparable
Lines of affection,
They all stroke
The same wounds.

New hands feel like
Recycled lullabies,
Humming promises
Of a new melody,
Singing a remedy for
My impassivity.

Whether words fall
Passionate or
Fearful,
Endearment lines my lips
With an expiration
Long enough to convince me,
But short enough to leave me.

Reminding me:
The disintegration of
Indifference
Remains
My prerequisite
For destruction.

So before you
Touch me with
Promises of a new
Orchestration,
I'm already marking the
Days until you leave.

Because my skin
Is tired of
Intruders hidden
Behind momentary
Infatuation.

So keep your hands to yourself.
Pat Jul 2017
Allow me to rejoice on that ever present smile that settled upon your face
Restoring this vitality in me
I never once knew I had inside my being
There is no coherent explanation as to how you make me feel '
Let me understand your hidden desires
Since you hide behind the troubles of your past
Dont treat me as if Im a temporary tenant
In the secured and turbulent shelter you call mind
You are my warmth and my longing
Share your passions and your unpleasentries
Know that Im here to stay
Hand me the keys to your residence
So we both together patch up your insecurities and nasty numbness
I will sweep away the hurt and alienate the emptiness
Shed water to your plants
Discover the beauty you can grant them
Consolation and comfort all wrapped up
in the personification that is you
  Jul 2017 Pat
kgl
i miss you is harder to say than i love you.

i love you is difficult, it's true.

but i miss you suggests something more;
"you were here, now you're not, i'm hurting from a lack of you."

and that somehow feels more vulnerable than love
whose fleeting, temporary words
i have said to those
i now most abhor.

love's promises and delights
are crushed into dust
while i miss you means
"i want more."
not really a poem, more a thought.
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