Red and white pillows
Linen white sheets
On an empty bed
What a sad picture
to end a promising beginning

He said “Cult of Simultaneity”
in such a sultry way
it made we want to kiss him
in that “Gay guys are attracted to me”
sort of way.

An English major taking an
upper level history course
as an elective—

When he smiled at you
in one-on-one conversation
his Irish emerald eyes gleamed between
slits (as he squinted his eyes
in a merry, amiable way).

He wore silk dress shirts and vests
every day with pressed tapered
black dress pants and
gleaming black oxfords.

His well-trimmed red beard
enwreathing the doorway to his mouth
made his lips (full, lush;
I swear they were glossed)—
evermore tantalizing.

I gave him a cute nickname
that was just his name shortened
but with a y, like Jimmy
and Bobby and
I hope he liked it—

He spoke with such finesse
carefully enunciating every syllable
running his tongue smoothly
across his teeth lips and
the roof of his mouth
free of spit and stutter—

every phoneme imbued
with his placid charm,
I ate every crumb
with my eyes glued to him
across the classroom—

Vain and straight,
straight in vain.

Her eyes see everything but
                                  nothing,
blind to everything but
                     her own beauty.

How hard is it,
To pick them out,
Together.

I mean they specifically come in pairs,
Two, dos, zwei, deux,
Trapped together by plastic handcuffs.

Pairs,
Like pairs of binocular eyes,
Like a pair of hearing aids,
Like barbeque chicken wings,
Like that obnoxious aunt and uncle.

Are you a slob?
Is your closet a mess?
You’re definitely a person who leaves hair in the drain.

Why do they cease to match,
Is it to purposely annoy me,
While I’m waiting for this **** bus,
which was an hour late,
two hours ago.

One is green like it was picked from a nose,
One is orange,
Bright
Orange.
You had to pick the most clashing colors, right?

And I can see them,
Right there, poking out of your
Adidas flats.

They taunt me,
Regard my shoes with noses turned up,

Play tennis with my emotions,
And twist my brain like a contortionist.

Were you in a rush this morning,
That you totally forgot to look for a pair,
An ACTUAL pair?!
There were absolutely none?!

Is it wrong that I’m judging you right now,
Or that I definitely would not want to have a conversation,
Let alone sit next to you.

Socks are supposed to match,
That’s how they’re made,
Knitted, sewn, and colored soulmates,
S-o came along and bonded with c-k-s,
See, it’s chemistry.

The town is ravaged, as you take your looks away from me
So begins the life long battle
Waiting for the roads to rattle
And i rise to face the day
That gives me the pain
And break my chain
And ravage the town in vain

She loved me more
even though she saw me lying on the floor
She gave me her hand
even though she knew i couldn't stand
She gave me her heart
even though she knew mine was just a painful blot
She loved me in darkness,
She loved me in rain,
She loved me in vain,
She loved me in loneliness,
She loved my pain,
even which I couldn't contain
So I wish her the sun
I wish her the moon
I wish her good days
I wish her a summer noon

Tell me will you poet?
tell me sweetly in my ear,
tell me of your darkest sin,
and of your hidden fear,
then I will tell it back to you ,
and jot it right down here,
so tell me if you go with it ,
just what you wish to hear?

( I'm listening )

I can tell you that you're perfect,
that you're nice as nice can be,
an I'll tell you that I am your friend,
that you have a friend in me,

( ugh...not so much )

I'll tell you-
you're the handsomest,
as handsome as a star,
the dreamy one from childhood,
who lives somewhere a far,

( I wish... )

I'll tell you that you're wonderful,
that you're honest -
and you're sweet,
an I'll be at your beckon call,
just waiting at your feet,
I will be the sweetest girl,
that you will ever meet,

( Oh boy )

I'll curve the pretty world you view,
an distort it if I must,
tell me will you poet,
are my words the ones you trust?
I can tell a sad goodbye,
or sheets we tangle up in lust,

( ....uh..notta chance, but-)

I can tell of heated passion,
of heated lovers in the night,
while some have heated *******,
some others have a fight,
either way with all that heat,
there's hope they both ignite,
an when you cut your own hand off,
it's only YOU-
you spite,

( OK don't get pissy )

So I can kiss you with my paper,
I can caress you with my pen,
I can leave you feeling anxious love,
or I can leave you feeling zen,
I can be beside you there,
just name it where and when,

( hope not tho )

I can mention that you're genius,
just the smartest guy I know,
except for when it comes to love,
and then it's all for show,
or I can just omit that part,
so no one ever know,

( I'm sure you'd prefer that )

I can tell you any fake thing,
so sweetly in your ear,
it may not be the truth though,
and there in lies the fear,
if I tell you only truth then,
when I'm drawn in really near,
then tell me will you poet,
what should I say my dear?

( oy vey )

Because some objectified objects,
well they have opinions too,
and flattery gets you no where see,
even if these facts I say are true,
it's only in a certain light,
when you tip it all askew,
so that everyone can finally see,

The real "beauty" there in you,
as it all comes out,
now so clearly into view,

And I wonder why would I-
ever waste a single precious breath?!

Ma Cherie © 2017