Poems are snippets,
pieces of memories,
deep emotions,
lost chances,
broken hearts,
exuberant romances,
scar tissue in words,
happy endings,
new beginnings and lots
of other interesting things
written by real people.

There was something about her.
Maybe it was the way she moved,
the way she batted her pretty-eyes,
sashayed her nice-thighs around,
the softness of her sweet voice.

So alluring,
almost supernatural.
Her hair flowed all around,
had a satin sheen in the sun,
she was ample in her flowery blouse,
fragrance of patchouli,
a hint of ylang ylang
followed her.

Whatever it was
was truly special.
I call it magical.
It felt like I was under a spell
when I was near her-
a "Can't-think-straight" spell,
the kind that captures you
with enchantment,
so charming.

This morning gray skies prevailed,
an icy wind bit my face,
cold tears streamed down
as I pedaled along the deserted streets.

The few drivers who did pass
had no faces.
Perhaps they
were chilled,
crying,
felt a bit empty too.

I can daydream all night,
fight romantic urges,
be drawn into illusions.

The paradigm-shift
takes away any confusion,
makes this deliberate,
make no mistake.

I can tap my keys in
this seclusion,
feed your
pretty space.

Patience is
after all
a virtue.

You lay so innocent,
kissed me so provocatively,
infected my soul
with your learned behaviors.

Your step-by-step instructions
about intimate things,
mutually pleasing,
became carved
into my granite
like commandments.

And how can I describe
your taste,
your raw primordial stream
intoxicating me into
other realms,
spellbinding me forever?

I can’t.