"dauber" poems
Remember the suddenness. How it all came in pour, and not drips or drabs.
A dauber, you were, and how you'd have to paint barefoot.
(I used to love watching you take off
your socks)
Your jaw locked and intensity gaze magnifying and ablaze.
Licentious.
You taught me that word was more than ***
and taught me to be archaic.
You would study my studied glare as I toiled my own art.
Mostly for show, because I didn't know what to do;
with my hands or the words that needed massaging
from their tense sinews.
Then you, fashion of a muse came dancing to my stag self,
awe shucks off to the side and we'd boogie in darkness.
I left you at the altar.
You blew me a kiss with a nervous laugh,
and told me your heart beat for me like free form jazz.
Even when the music stopped and our hips ceased,
from lips you creased and then from pout poured,
"I love you, Jonathan Lore."
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
The human soul is blind
To any a malevolent heart;
It sees through a hopeful and trusting lens
Only to be shattered into betrayed shards.
A seemingly respectable honeybee
Wears a mask to hide
The nasty, stinging, pitch black mud dauber
That broods on the inside.
The world’s magical colors
Begin to fade away,
For the true colors were uncloaked at last,
And all that was left was gray.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC