#clementine
A fateful night,
I was restless,
Sleep fleeting my young eyes.
So I rose from bed,
And to my desk I sat.
My pen curled in my fingers,
I wrote.
I wrote of a girl,
Made of spare paper,
And discarded ink.
But never did I guess,
My writing would come true.
Yet come next morning before me lay,
A paper girl with inky eyes.
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
Dear darling my one and only
You make my heart flatter in ways l cant explain
How could someone make me feel this way
The feeling is unexplainable but it brings joy to my innerself
I never understood the power of love until l met you
Oh my darling sweetheart
My heart has chosen you
You have found a perfect spot in my heart
You now have the only thing l swore l wouldn't give anyone
You have my heart now keep it safe
My precious darling
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 6:09 AM UTC
hand me that one—
To hold in hand,
whisper my heart
within its pores.
To share my whims:
dresses I wore
sometime long past.
I dare not peek
To peel its peel,
study the lines
upon its raw.
To see the same:
summers now soil
this time in palm.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 10:29 PM UTC
the surprisingly sweetest clementine
2016
amidst
the marble and stone pillars
of the museum's fifth avenue grand hall,
a woman grows faint and woozy,
and the Egyptian artifacts five thousand years old,
re-proved as reusable, sustainable,
as leaning-against-posts
for the dizzy
the boyfriend well familiar
with dehydration side effects,
from pocket pulls a natural pill of
a sweet clementine,
restoring the well
to the good
she marvels at
how came I
to place a survival kit in my
coat pocket?
smiling, he confesses
his fondness for
providing
for all her needs,
known and unknown
even carries an inventory,
with back ups to back ups,
assorted sundries,
he calls it,
proving his point too well,
reaching into the other
pocket and offering
yet another,
a second helping
for his,
oh my darling,
sweetest clementine
she, undecided,
laugh or cry,
both equally attractive amazement solutions,
says only:
I love you for reasons,
known and unknown,
now,
take me home
for reasons
now known,
and others,
as of yet,
most happily,
unknown
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
I'm different from the advertisements
I'm different from being able to check the diffident
I'm differently formed, coffered the affidavit
The defendant left me in a spell of the time that I had lost
Imbibing my guilt in the adequate alacrity, inevitable wasn't it
The loss of my sensible sagaciousness and I took it to curtsy for my childish grin
Smirks and lenience were standing upon at gaze, in the confused crowd
Only you, you were standing in the surface flowing with troughs of tridents of storms
Making choices beyond your gayness, and pristine condition was your choice of gentleness
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 11:11 AM UTC
I’ve been struck down again,
fully aware it’s my own doing.
Do you have a heart you can lend?
Mine’s drying from the taping and the glueing.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
are you smiling or are you snarling,
more importantly are you mine?
Outside the window seasons blend,
the temperature holds no meaning.
I notice the change and the trend,
to ignore the withdrawals from weaning.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
you’ve been avoiding and been barring,
but you can’t severe this line.
The stronger the initial fear
usually means the most is at stake,
and trying to prevent a single tear
can lead to the worst heartbreak.
Those who leave the best memories
usually leave us with the most hurt,
you know we can’t just live life with ease,
there needs to be some blood on a white shirt.
You can try to completely forget someone,
but putting that effort in means you’re actually fixated more,
and after all is said and done,
honestly who do you wish to be behind that door?
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
is it cleansing or more harming,
to live in denial all the time?
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
when it’s finished it’ll be starting,
and I’ll stand under the Montauk sign.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 7:07 AM UTC
there is a general reason
as to why her name fits her.
whenever you look at her beauty,
all you can mutter is
oh my darling, oh my darling
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
clean your teeth
with a pink washcloth
your tongue
with saline water
hands behind my back
gently (or roughly) held
together
pacing back and forth
or sitting on my
uncertainly made
deliberate choices
I wonder if you like
the smell of clementine
on my fingers
stained orange from the
pungent peel
I would stain
my whole body with color
if I could
as if that would
freeze this superficial
line of seconds
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Clementine deleted Joel
from her mind. Joel tried to
forget her; he couldn't, so
he got rid of her too. You
try, I know, to get rid of me. I
try, you know, to pretend that
the world isn't spinning so fast
in the hope
that we will fall of its spinning-top edge
and stumble, clumsily, gracelessly, into
each other. We're spinning so fast with it-
the world- so this is unlikely, so we both
pretend that it's an accident when we fall
into each other,
again and again, as
We play spin the bottle while
The world spins instead.
Suddenly.
Now that that same world has stilled itself for
us: we don't know what to do without its
rotationary madness angling us
towards old age and crumpets (together?). That
same world has stilled itself until
tomorrow when that same world will spill
itself out from day to night to day again
as we take our respective first drafts
of our poems written about each other
and
Edit.
out that same mad spin
that made us
us
just like
Joel and Clementine forgot-
on purpose. We forget, on purpose
with purpose
but,
we'll still meet each other in Montauk where
that same world will still itself
as we wrap our fingers around each other's
fingers
in the cold
where you might finally reciprocate
my lacklustre
confessions.
You too,
right?
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
It was the year I drove over the Tappan Zee
for the first time of what would be hundreds.
It was the year I went five months without
my parents, living off broccoli cheddar soup
and ham sandwiches. The year I got cabin
fever and took a November bus ride through
early sunsets and empty houses, as the last
few brown leaves hung on by threads.
When I passed the Quinnipiac River, I let
swans drift away. It was the year spent sitting,
curled in my chair until the sunlight crept
and sunk beneath the torn carpet.
2010 was laundry detergent and fleeting innocence.
It was bed sheets and rain drops hiding flames.
It was the year I preferred ***** over church,
and spent the next 4 trying to erase.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC