i wonder if the doors in the house you grew up in
started slamming themselves to save your father the trouble.
i wonder if you can remember the last time you prayed,
and if you had trouble unfolding your hands.
i wonder if your mother knows
about the collection of hearts you hide in your closet,
i wonder if she could tell mine apart from the rest.
i wonder if your shoes know the reason why
you keep them by the back door and not your bedside.
and sometimes, i wonder
if you ever think about that night when i told you,
you wouldn't need to drink so much if you had me.
but it seems like we only speak when you've got body on your brain,
whiskey in your glass,
your judgement is overcast,
and you know i'm too weak to ignore you.
i learned how to translate your texts
from drunken mess back into english.
i am fluent in apology, but i don't ask you for them anymore.
this is just how it is.
it's not enough for either of us
but ******* it we are not above settling.
so i will ignore her name on your breath,
and you will ignore the fact that this means something to me.
i always thought the first time i kissed you,
it would be on your mouth.
i just wanted to be something warm for you to sink into,
something that could convince you to stay a second night.
but i sneak you out in the early morning,
and you take a piece of my pride with you when you go.
i am left to nurse the hangover from a wine i've never tasted,
wondering how this is possible.
waiting for the next drunk call,
for the next time i get to pretend we are lovers,
the next time i get to live out the fantasy i am most ashamed of.
it is the one in my head where you want me when you're sober too.

- m.f.

She saw..
The greed for peace, unsated forever,
The need for love, unabated however,
Emptying vast emptiness,
She saw in me..

I write, you paint, they sing,
She..
She cried,
Sat there, with me in her eyes,
She cries..

She told..
Tol' me of the hollow hollows,
She had to tell..
A piece of my heart,
She had to take..
To make it right,
she took the left..
Kissed my fingertips,
she cried and left;
Left a hole in me, where her tears fell..

She left.. and..
The Greed for Peace, abated forever,
The Need for Love, unsated.. still... however..

The first sign would be, the way she'd glance,
No no, cancel that! It would most certainly be her smile;

Or... Maybe her hair, flowing in waves like no other,
But would it be that dreamy he wonders, all the while!!

Once he might've been there, but missed it quite by chance,
Young and foolish he thought he was,
Mistook, mistaking crushes for romance,
Had he not chosen to act older, probably would have been younger in love;

Perhaps, this time there'll be some indicators, some pole star guiding him to her, he Hopes,
For all he knows is friendship, care and loyalty for those,
Few people whose faces bring light,
but she, he imagines would stand out,
gleaming more bright, wrapped as if in white

Older and wiser, he thinks he is,
None too shabby in love he'll fare.

It might be the twinkle in her eye, or the way she plays her moves a lil' coy,
In his gut he knows this time around he'll get it right,
But how much could a simpleton know,
Of the matters of the heart,
He who has a history of ignorance,
But better and brighter he seems,
For her, more prepared to bend down on his knee,

He just knows that when they meet,
A shooting star would be seen,
Blazing and dazzling through the sky,
Wandering and meandering as if drunk with with her pulchritude,
But isn't it too far fetched a dream to live by,

It feels like he's sure not to miss it,
In a way, desperate to kiss her,
But falling in love, is an idiot he's feared,
He'd rather tread softly, none too eager,
trying not too hard,
seeming too casual to appear,

Dreamer or dreamier does he sound,
for the affections, Of a lovely lass, in fields afar.

What he doesn't think of, is just to be himself,
Not strut or stutter, but feel free,
Not look for grins, eyes hair or her stance,
There would be no signs but just an inward smile, a silent glee.

For too blind the eyes make, every man with light,
Love, love oh love, is over-rated perhaps,
Ephemeral are the fables, maybe is its just chance,

So hope should he? To meet his destiny?
Shall he take her hand, kiss her forehead, caress her cheek?
OH, my love, sit with me, and let's wait and see....

Tis' easier to run,
To little worlds,
To have a little fun,
And move on...

Than to live life as they say,
With an open mind and a loving heart,
To face each day as it comes,
To sleep peacefully at night like a baby,
It's better to see and smell a rose,
Than to pluck it,
Like walking on grass for a short while,
And jump back to the paved winding paths,
To keep moving on...

Tis' easier to run,
Into the arms of many women,
Not to brothels but to bars,
Drink and kiss,
Only to move on...

Than to understand everything,
With a wise mind, open to all thoughts,
Tis' easier to be a hedonist,
A creature of pure desire and passion,
Like better to be loved by a few,
Than admired by all,
The mind plays tricks,
The heart simply wants,
Mind draws conclusions from illusions,
The heart aches for mirages and rainbows, far far apart,
A tiresome journey is this search,
But from one to the other,
It goes on...

Tis' easier to run,
To little worlds,
To have a little fun,
And move on...

From innocent treacherous souls,
Needy not knowing the chains,
With which lives are bound,
To go on and yet stay,
Circling an unsteady lot,
Like sheep with dogs around,
Tis' easier to stay,
The way, the way the world isn't,
Ignorance begetting Conformity,
Knowledge creating a moral high ground,
Tis' easier to break hearts,
Hearts of others and own,
Than to feel pain alone,
Look back, wave and move on...

Tis' easier to run,
To a detour, from the race,
To stroll amongst animals,
For the sake of moving on...

Than to last the while,
Gasping for breath,
Gushing in between swims,
To fly in dreams,
Tis' better to listen to far off sounds,
Of unknown beings, of creatures yet to be found,
And follow the craziness in circles,
And lose sight of a goal,
Than to play for winnings,
Than to fight ego battles,
Belittle the words spoken,
Simply pass by than forgive hurts,
Let life move on...

Tis' easier to run,
To little worlds,
To have a little fun,
And move on...

You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your eyes
Smoulder the fallen roses of out-lived minutes,
And the perfume of your soul
Is vague and suffusing,
With the pungence of sealed spice-jars.
Your half-tones delight me,
And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colours.

My vigour is a new-minted penny,
Which I cast at your feet.
Gather it up from the dust,
That its sparkle may amuse you.