If love is an artform
We were the artists
A turkey is done
An artist is finished
Final like chloroform
That is, not very
But I am done with you
Am I really done
Short answer: no

The long answer is
I'll never be done
Not with you nor
With my art
I'll always drift
Back to you but the
Thing is you'll just
Drift right along

So no, done is not
The word for
You and I for
You are done
With me but I am
Finished with you

This morning I sat contemplating the wrinkled sheets of
my night of restless slumber-
I thought of the possibility behind contacting you and being
denied or sitting here and believing in the multi-verse theory.

When I was younger I took comfort in the thought of different
worlds which equate to multiple plausible outcomes.
I thought that if it rained here,
out there, another me would enjoy a sunshine bliss.
And so, by that logic, there is a universe in which you answer
positively, negatively,
one which we never met
and another which we are together from the beginning.
If so, does that mean this universe is the one of regret?

I am staring at my undone bed fully aware it won't make itself,
but I can't help and ponder that in another universe things once
broken put themselves together.
However, of action and inaction,
of to be and not to be;
this world demands and answer.
Thus this morning I make my bed quite early and wait for a reaction.

Your cheek rested on my chest light
pressing the silence bright for a moment
in your dark porch feelings had weight
but I was reluctant to detach to speculate
about where we were and what we held
too secure to need to share talk at all
like the black cat blending into the explored
our world still unbound by word patrolled walls

the street lamp flickered with temptation
asking elemental questions on decisions
reason on or off proving only a distraction
illuminating your attractions from a distance

above us a curtain stirred
up against an open window
lulled by slight rain cloud
blurring the moon to slow
cuddle in love with a dream
seen sweetly on half show
to only a lonely lane
and me in the light kiss
you gave with all that's pure
from a girly whirly place
full of pink hats and allure
making the darkness shake
when I saw the look in your eyes
sure with what I couldn't mistake
as yet told only in storybook ways

I almost dared to try and speak
but you felt the twinkle of stars too
shyness fluttering your lashes
and passion escaped and flew
skies beyond intensity to catch
respite in what little sleep it could
before getting bedded by an au revoir
which l foolishly leapt into turning round
pulling up a collar against the late hour
leaving you a wave to hide my two minds
I notice you pull your curtains together

cold sheets made bearable
when you phoned
to see I was safe
to hear your voice
saved me from strife
and though not face to face
we spoke of what in our lives
was finally in place
behind your curtain of love

my fingers slid down the natural gradient
stretching the fabric all the more sensitive
felt as a soft moan might pad on a sheet
intent on some scheme or hunt secretive

Waste your care
We all lie in parallel lines
And one step over
Can fray the strongest ties

We all break
No one suffers indefinitely
Vices sink
The strongest voices in the sea

Without love
I’ve withered apart
And watched my former self depart

The ginger boy just could not  touch.
For long
he'd been away.
He wasn't sure if to return.
Or if stay
in far display
.
It hurt him much that he did dine
to ignore
such place
where time
and space
where people meet and spirits lift
and only two can sail the drift,
the tide of
friendship.


It made no sense his
versed up mess
but he could not
      think
         of anything best
he could not put
his soul to rest
even if there was no test
even though the patience lives
even if the doubting gives
even if he cannot rhyme
every sentence
every line
all he wants to do is give up his apology.


To remind that all was genuine
to ensure that love divine
the ginger did not **** things up
just was turned
against
by pain and time
they took away his freedom
imprisoned him in his own mind
so when he fell to sorrow
and to longing
for the old times
for his good friend
for the new words
hesitation reigned
and won


All the moments he did try
wishing from his lips to say
lingering his fingers over keys
just type it-- "hey"
what consumed him was this
pain
dramatic and possibly in vain
wanting not to burden bare
a friend so far
and out of hair
a friend unaware.



So he gifted his apology.
And his Promise to return.
His word was only certainty
but when ? no-one could learn.
He hoped to not attain bad feelings.
He hoped to not regret.
But whatever happens, happens
There is hope for this boy yet.

Hesitations grips me
Sometimes with a soft gentle squeeze and sometimes with an iron fist
That split second where you see that girl with whimsical hair and a playful smile and your body is screaming at the top of its lungs “GO AFTER HER YOU FOOL!!!” while your brain mulls over the endless stream of stressful situations
I can hear Robin Williams calling out to me “Let me hear your YAWP!” and I’m shaking, quivering, rattling, generating the vocal ferocity of a lion! And all that comes out is a whimpering “yawp…”
Hesitation grips me
A harmless compliment to brighten someone’s day, no harm done, just a quick simple “I like your pants” a smile and I’m on my way
Simple! Wrong!
That flickering candle of pleasantries is cut short by a swiftly shutting window of opportunity
The breeze not hesitating to extinguish its light
Hesitation grips me
How many moments must I suffer paralyzed lips before my can of complimentary worms is opened?
How many lovely strangers will continue to mill about their days in unblissful ignorance of my enjoyment of their simple, subtle or overt characteristics?
This hesitation grips me!
It shackles me and holds the key in front of my face and all it requires is one real Yawp! The mustering has begun! That key is my freedom of hesitant chains! Just! One! Yawp! I think I can I think I can I think I can! Just! One! Yawp! “yawp…”
Hesitation grips me

I would scale the mighty chestnut trees
Growing in your eyes
If it meant that I could look upon
Your body, for a time

I would swing all through the branches
Recount your visions passed
Bask beneath the shadowed canopies
Swallowed in the black

Yes, I think I would quite like it there
I’ll go one day. Perhaps

Am I losing hold?
In a hurricane thought storm
Little deaths on the television
Remind me of my inactions

Said I’d even myself
Out, after giving into self
Doubt. Unstable, leaning toward self
Harm, while the world tumbles itself
Round

Bitter at my own lack
Feel the fire dying in my breath
While the world
Burns and breaks and blisters in a growing wreck

Did my stutter break another heart?
Did my whisper **** that child?
Too quiet for him to hear the reason
I searched for myself, at sixteen

Is every stilted thought, wasted potential / opportunity
To better myself, better the world,
And every person I'll ever meet?

I will not let
Hesitation
Separate
Soul from body
Ever again

I am not lifeless
I am not cruel
I will not be a bystander
I swear

I am not lifeless
I am not cruel
I will not be a bystander
I swear
Ever again