I try to think back to the last time I was happy
but it has been a while
since I last saw you.

My God
knows Love is all I seek-
Not a life of ***, hedonism,
lust, gambling, and parties-
I do want kids,
to be a wife,
To give back in some way-
To be an aid in someone’s life
and live by what He says-
So what if I’m the wife of a woman?
If our kid’s DNA’s half ours?
I don’t think He discriminates-
Pursue what’s good;
That’s what He asks.

How can someone love me if I'm too broken?
If my scars are visible and ugly
If I keep too many secrets unspoken
And my heart is always unhappy

How can someone love me if I'm shattered?
I am a hard puzzle you can't ever solve
The pieces of me are scattered
And i am difficult to dissolve

How can someone love me if I don't even love myself?
If I'm the one who sends trouble
If I'm like an old book stock in a shelf
And a boring girl who doesn't go out from her bubble

So how can someone love me if I'm locked up in a cage
And too broken like a crumpled page.

oft on bus seated next,
every one of your senses
adjusting, modulating,
to her unpredictable
solar flaring

you don't ever risk
that first missing
           misstep,
your entirety is
sun bursted
        (un)/consumed
in unhappy joy of her
consuming presence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you laugh
years later
re the topic of
your first shaky
foot in the mouth
a classic misstep
first bow shot,
opening one liner

and each storied retelling  
is nature!s
snow and rain
refilling
the love of your
groundwater table
welling up

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you love her scent
the silly hats she wears,
her short skirts arouse,
that last open button
a misstep invitation,
angry it incenses,
her every solitary everything is
incense,
pervading a daily
co-riding
passenger's
oxygen? starved soul

~~~~~~~~~

her umbrella is a wet
selfie stick
accidentally opening and dousing
an un random next door
seatmate

just another unlucky misstep for
someone sitting next store,
oil on the fire of
happily ever after

two selfies are last seen as
one
un selfishly
toweling each other off and
on
with wet kisses

~~~~~~~~~~~

you eavesdrop on her
earbud music,
weep internally you do with
crazed jealously

The Temptations
are so unfairly
singing to her
"Ain't to Proud to Beg"
and neither are you

you heart is misstepping
to every beat,
your fingers
thrumming,
you idiot, not quietly enough
humming
in the next seat

the first,
will not be
the last

smile exchanged

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

poem writing on the tablet,
amidst the groaning awful
no moving
city traffic

overheated bus
combustible with
winter snow dampness,
wet dog sweat smelling people clothes

all you want to do is get home
shower off
the daily dirt

the poetry writing pastime
is the place
where you put yourself
to better to pass over
your sour surroundings

her finger rattlesnakes,
misstepping over,
noisily invading,
the invisible boundary
constructed to hold up the
eye-averting
Keep Out sign
to momentary,
too neighborly
strangers

her red painted
pointer finger
smudge prints on your tablet,
accompanied with
bespoke words
"try this"

that smudge suggestion
won't come off

insisting on crediting
a shared authorship,
you ask for her
email and cell,
so you can share
her
forever

co jointed tangled
bus and bed sheet first efforts
on writing, all about
what you play~argue
what should your entitled poem
be titled

you think

endless short love story bus poems

but she prefers,
with red fingers persuading

the first misstep is the best

both see the merit
in each other

there’s a boy I love,
the boy doesn’t speak,
the boy is pale, a body full of bones.

his ****, limp
his eyes, weeping
his form, skeletal and twined.

i want to dissolve him into body wash,
clean my body with his.

there’s a boy,
a touch of 25 to his grace.
the boy kisses like he’s carving gold into cement.

he makes art out of willowing branches of thighs,
out of dove-necked wrists,
out of a sloped, vining neck.

there’s a boy,
mute; but as loud as roaring packs of waves.

there’s a boy i love,

even when i swore love was what I was most afraid of.

The last words I plan to write
before the darkness, of endless night,
will be just these, short and few,
I'm sorry for what, I did to you.

And eventually, you will meet someone,
out of the hundreds of people you’ve met in your life.
She’s ordinary and does the same things like everyone.
She wakes up in the morning, fix herself a cup of coffee,
does household chores, work her way out through the day,
drinks wine, read thick novels, and sleeps soundly at night.
But she will turn your world upside down.

This seemingly ordinary human being who is like
any other human being suddenly starts to become
the only human being in your life.
And you start to ask questions.

Like, why her? Why now?
Why does your heart beats faster when
she’s around and slows down when she’s not?
Why do you dream of her? Why do you see a future with her?
Why is your mind filled with the image of her face,
her warm smile, the curves of her body,
the roundness of her *******, the thickness of her thighs?

Why is her laugh the most beautiful music you’ve ever heard?
Why do you feel wonderful and glad when she says your name?

Suddenly, everything just seems to lighten up.
You are entering uncharted territories and
it feels so good to get lost in some place
that isn’t just built for sleeping and dreaming,
isn’t just four-walled and filled with furniture.

Home, more than buildings, houses,
and four-walled rooms, can be a pair of arms
around your body, like a second skin on you,
a birthmark you can never get rid of,
a memory you will never forget.

I am sure you didn't think you would need help so soon
But here you are crippling
at nobody's doorstep
crying to be heard and understood without even saying