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 Nov 2015 Stefan Smith
kellkaym
she was the kind
of pretty that you didn't
really notice at first
but once you saw her in the middle of the night
with messy hair and tired
eyes and tears dancing across
her cheeks and dripping
onto her mouth you
would want nothing more
than to kiss them away
Opia. Noun. The ambiguous intensity of looking into someone's eyes, which can fell simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

As you lie in my arms, watching the television, you don't notice that my undivided attention is focused on you. Something I've been dreaming of for weeks, and it's finally come true. Even better, from your angle, you can't see me staring into your eyes, so I don't feel the nervous compulsion to turn away. Whether directly or not, I could drink in your eyes with mine, for hours, and they would be among the best hours of my life.
Then there's the other hand, held tightly by trepidation. I love the prospect of your eyes staring into mine, but it's not without its fears. I'm afraid you'll see all the pain and fears that I've spent the past seven years working to overcome. I'm afraid you'll see all the insecurity and doubts I have about myself. I'm afraid you'll see all the words that I long to whisper in your ear, but can't, because I'm terrified of scaring you away. I'm afraid you won't like the fact that, behind these eyes lies only pictures and thoughts of you. But most of all, I'm afraid that, unlike me, who loves every detail, and lives for moments like these, you won't love the things you see. I long for the day when you stare happily into my eyes, but I'm frightened that you won't enjoy the secrets they reveal.
 Oct 2015 Stefan Smith
CRH
Come put your lips
near my lips.

We don't need the
Candy-Sweet-Candlelight, the
Special-Slinky-Things, the
Smooth Hum of Midnight Jazz.

**** it.

We'll make-out to the sound
of a blender or a lawnmower,
Or a pack of feral cats.
Wearing what
we wore to work
And smelling of nothing more than mediocrity.
Just come put your lips near my lips.

It will be perfect.
If I were a real poet,
I’d be second-cousin
to Charles Bukowski.
If I were a musician,
I’d be a nephew of Tom Waits.
I think that it’s
a pretty safe bet to say
that the best tracks
on any album are track
#3, #7, and #9.
The best one of those three
is always #7.
Fall is the best time
to listen to jazz
and drink coffee
laced with bourbon.
It’ll get you drunk,
but you’ll be wide awake
at closing time.
My step-daddy
should be Hubert Selby Jr.
I can never sleep past 6am,
even if I go to bed at 2.
Sometimes baby,
the only thing better
than biscuits and gravy,
is you.  
*
-JBClawell
© P&ZPublications; 2015
Some memories i never write about, means they didn't happen.
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