Too tight
Your arms brazen
circling me
Leading me to your core

I am not the apple to adore nor can I allow the fluttering in my stomach to catastrophize my mind

Admiration has it's bouts
But those who admire grow bored
And the admired become ill and hollowed out with bitterness and shallow sound--
tink tink tinking of glasses filled with ice and the numbing of high proofed haste

Steady now!
The notion is fiercely romanticized  
Yet hardly fulfilled
Showing the minds eye just can't be sought out
For I will surely begin to disappear
And you will surely march towards the counterpart of the compass with the parts of me I so tenderly keep tucked abroad

Be careful!
Now with the tables turned
You are beginning to show your bitter cheeky side

(C) Tiffanie Doro

a poet is a silent screamer
silent feeler, silent doer
thinking, tinking, toying brains
reveals life through an expulsion
of ink on paper
with a mind whose thoughts
trickle down like racing raindrops on a car window
a painter of words on a heart-canvas
dreamer of the unreachable
unrequitable
unforgotten.

breezy
and again
bleary

wind hair face cold
semi-
conscious

some kind
of musical

playing tinking

as the ticking
makes no
blare

blah

lids
half
glimpsing

glitter
recent performer's static chaos

passing past
"the Garden Village"

oh
the night's
lazy
and
black

--

just got back
(like you...?)