Sometimes in the dark
you stumble
before the morning lark

calls out to the smart
you mumble
sometimes in the dark

faintly beats the heart
sensing trouble
before the morning lark

calls for the day to start
we blunder
sometimes in the dark

trying to make their mark
our thoughts rumble
before the morning lark

All is but a house of cards
& about to crumble
somewhere in the dark
before the morning lark

it happened once
upon a time

a place with a piano
   much wine
  & cozy talk
they left late
   tied in an amiable hug
heading for their separate quarters
   each knew
   the other shared
   with someone else

passing through the old library
she gently pulled him down
    upon a persian rug
    and lifted her skirts
    quite irresistibly

they melted in bliss

knowing it would happen
   only once
in their time

         * *

as of a gentle loving breeze
     whose caress makes
     my body ache
  at other times you are the storm
  in which I plunge in wild delight
  and let myself be tossed
  around the world

  and then again
     I feel I am surrounded
     by warm playful waves
  gathering force slowly
     down the stream
     then bursting forth
     in one magnificent
          deafening roar

  amidst the forests of my life
  you are my lair
     of soft moss and leaves
     where I recline
     and live my dreams

  your are the mountain
  from whose top
     I look upon the deserts
     breathe blue skies

     follow the flight of birds
     into the sun

when my time comes
it comes
and I will gladly leave
to those who go on living
the task of sorting out
the mess I have accumulated
over years

let them discover
not only the stamp collection
the bank accounts
but also unknown niches
of their father’s/friend’s/husband’s life
the words unspoken
scribbled on some paper
thoughts never shared
for lack of time or opportunity
the letters to a friend of yore
emails to many people
hints of potential
love affairs that maybe never happened
ideas to change the world
into a better place

here I am
  now with a 7 before my years
envisioning life after death

a sign of vanity
perhaps
or an expression of despair

I am not sure

it may just be
the fleeting thoughts
on a clear winter evening
when cold creeps slowly
but insistently
into your bones

reminding you

   of all that cold space
   in our universe
   how it grows larger by the second

making you wonder
if it has a plan
and if that plan
includes you
speculating
about your destiny

        * *

frisky freckles frolick
over his fair-featured face
like a flickering fresco
of furious lusting frenzy

a vibrant flirtatiousness
fills all her fibers
she falls into his arms with finesse
foreseeing fond fantasies

******* with fearsome delight
after failure of foreplay
the foman farts in fectasy
his font flushes fondly

though he almost faints in the feat
for his front has become
far more fragile
than in former feasts

    fewer the forays
    more frequent the flops
    further away
    desires formerly frequent

yet his feelings
still flow to flowering females
forever fertile and fragrant

therefore
he never thinks
of a final
farewell

One day she may beg for your forgiveness.
One day he may come back crawling.
One day they may want to sort things through.
They may want to get back what was lost because they miss you...

But for now they are walking away from you...

I should be happy.

I woke up alive and well,
I should be happy.

I have new books to read,
I should be happy.

I have 490 songs on my iPod,
I should be happy.

I have good grades in school,
I should be happy.

I have friends who I can talk to and fangirl with,
I should be happy.

I'm young, I have my whole life ahead of me,
I should be happy.

I should be happy,
I'm not happy.

(a.d)