it would be easier
to not care at all
to not seek you out
for desire to dissipate
and blow in the wind
that way
I could fall right asleep
with no thought
of you

A desert maiden tired and worn came in out of the heat, quite unadorned: in search of her beloved, her turtledove.

Determined yet weary she looked to rise above all the images that held her back, all those things that told her she was full of lack.

A desert maiden quite comely in the form: came in from an east gate seeking to be transformed by the fire of his spirit and the purity of his love.

With only one purpose, to instruct her just as Boaz did Ruth; as a husband of valor sent from above.

As a little girl she always knew
That she lacked something special
Her own mother reminded her constantly
And the lass is now a grown woman

Adult experiences confirmed what was true
That she was just ordinary and dull
A woman with no it factor
Invisible to all before and around her

She's heard and hears stories of other women
Who use their wiles on hungry men
'If only I had that gift I'd feed a hundred of them'
Instead she's bypassed like she's not even there

Old age is catching up to her now
She may as well be thin air
The only ones who see her are other women
But never the men she dreams of

Ordinary is boring and typical
Nothing exciting about this creature
She might as well be dead and buried
Along with any hopes of truly being seen

More often than not,
I did not love you.

And neither did you,
even if you thought you might.
Lips touching, bodies touching, but
hearts still sound in our separate bodies.
And yet,
I was never happier than
when we were together,
side by side,
your arms wrapped around me,
fingers stroking my skin
with playful pinches;
the hair on your chest
growing in once more,
scratchy on my cheek;
deep sighs borne of
desire and satisfaction.

We were not in love
but good company, at least.

A resting pencil
insinuates a dying
poet

im tired
from a lack of sleep
im tired
from a lack of love
im tired
from missing you
im tired
from not eating
im tired
from being so tired

It's been twenty minutes
And I haven't seen his eyes.
He blew his nose twice,
Sneezed once.
One time,
I saw him eat—
That was days ago, though.
His fingers tip-tap
On the click-clacking keys,
Hands moving faster
Than the greatest gunfighter.
He would never have
The patience or desire
To duel me, however.
I can't decide which I want:
To smash his face into the keyboard
Or to wrap him in fraternal embrace
Until he remembers he is human;
So I just sit motionless on the couch,
Guiltier than he.