my first love letter
my first gin and tonic
you planted passion in me
you were older
and I was under
& you didn't live in Texas
and I wonder sometimes
about you
and if when I was
16 that any of my
w i s h e s
for you would ever come true
and they didn't
but I always got you
you were always mine
you are my never-ending story
and I will forever
g l o r i f y you in my mind
because everything I know
about anything that I show up with
was influenced by you
you taught me how to write
you are a painting on the walls of
my chest
in lipstick
i always wanted to smear your lipstick
and fall asleep tangled in your legs
and I never knew what any of that meant
and when I did, I associated it with you
I think I still do
I am older now and I can sift through that
quickly and speak to you better
& now this chest is so comfortable where I keep you
even though I never grew out of wanting to
I guess I'll never stop loving you
and I'm grateful for that
because I've loved you for 11 years
and this love has taught me more than
anyone who i've wasted my senses on

Names are so queer
Nobody seems to understand
Your name has meaning
And power,
It's true
But it has also colour
Of every shade and hue

Now, Nico is red,
Bright red like blood in your head.
Fred sounds black
No problem with that
It's merely a colour
I see
When I hear your name.

Janine is pink
Or sometimes green
It all just depends
With which mood it its seen

Amy is yellow
Like a field full of daisies
In the early morning sun
Bright enough to startle a fellow.

Damian is a triangle
With earthy colours
Strong and faithful
Sprotting from there earth's foundations

John its a brown name
That much is sure
It's a brown mansion
with two towers
That houses the dame.

Dylan is blue
About that there's no doubt
God of the sea
Go on and trust me!

If your name is Catherine
Now that is quite something
It's a strong green pillar
With black leaves to adorn it.

Every sound makes a colour
Every name sounds a shape
To experience
Shut up more with mouth agape

Like master Da Vinci Taught,
Use all your senses
And instead of survive
Learn to truly live!

Nostalgia for a vanished world
of  Macfisheries and the
Orange Hand boyswear store at Golders Green.
Bar Linda at the bus station
close to the record shop
with listening booths.
Those were our prize days
with au pairs Franny  and Janine
and our London memories.
As children
we never knew we had it all.
In our back garden
buried treasure - a cows bell
and delft plates.
The Jackson Five and Banana Splits,
bubble gum the preferred choice.
America so abundant on the horizon,
Pickettywitch on the radio.
playing that same old feeling
we so accordingly search for now.

His  girlfiend states if she earns enough tips
she'd rather their cat go to ninja school,
than agree to repair the leaking flat roof.
She's such an advocate in feline power,
impervious to all that's in its way.
Yet again Janine is asking him
to see Umbrellas  of Cherbourg,
she more than anything like to
look like Catherine Deneuvre.
But Bobbys uncomfortable with his dream.
The movie ended sadly.
How can you end dreams mid flow?
Janines all helter skelter,
an ultimation sleighride
down the Aix de Bains
to test his masculinity ?

No writing could ever explain,
No pencil could ever draw it out,
No bulb could ever bring to light
what I see when I look around.

Pretty green trees painted red,
Pure white doves dressed in black,
Somehow all the colors represent
what each object seems to lack.

There's darkness in every sun,
There's hatred in every hug,
There's expectation in every favor
And every favor fits too snug

How I look at myself outside of myself is much different
than what I see in my reflection.
Inside I feel *****,
Inside I feel ugly,
Inside I feel outside
of the world in which you want me to be.

Somehow now,
I've put in some thought,
Some insight.
And as much as it kills me to say this,
I understand that
no one can really understand
when one remark ***** their fists.

So I stay quiet
like a sheep,
like a mouse,
Like a scary, wild man's spouse,
Like a poet,
like a bear,
like all others
that really don't care.
Like my grandfather,
like my grandmother,
Like sweet, old Janine
from down the street's
little brother.
Like a mime,
Like a white man's crime,
Just like me,
They stay quiet like
the leaves on a tree

Both feet on the floor and the reality of my day starts.

I didn’t think it was going to be one of those days.  I woke-up with so much energy, but then remember that you are not here.  Where the **** are you?  It has been like what, three months?   You have been gone for that long.  Three ******, long months.  

My legs are like molasses.  I take steps towards the bathroom, which seem to take me forever.  Finally I arrive, to bask in the bliss of my first morning ****.   I make my way to the kitchen, putting the kettle on, before turning-on my phone.  Yes!  I have messages from you.  But, it’s the same old, same old - you’re having a good time, meeting loads of people, seeing loads of things, blah, blah.  The standard *******.  But you still haven’t answered my question, “when are you coming back?  I miss you - things are lonely here without you **”.  I’ve asked it, over and over, with each message you send.  And each time, I get no response.

Today is Tuesday, Shrink-Tuesday.

I hate the guy.  Not the guy himself, I mustn’t over exaggerate.  What I really hate, is the idea of seeing a shrink.  I’m sure he’d be cool to go out and have a drink with, but as a shrink he *****.  All shrinks ****. I don’t even want to be here.  I already know what’s wrong with me.  This is the first time we’ve been apart in 15+ years and I’m feeling it, you know.   I’m really feeling it.  I miss you.  I tell the shrink that I’ve received messages from you.  I get that same flat look he always gives me.  Interested, but not so interested.  And each time, he asks me what you said, how I felt about it and what I replied.  But this time, I’ve brought the phone.  That excites him a little.  I can see it in his face.  He goes through the messages, and hands it back to me.  ‘So how does her response make you feel?’  I want to punch him right, bang in his gob.  The session’s over.  I ask when he thinks he’ll sign me off to get back to work.  I just need to something to do.  Something to occupy my time.  ‘We’ll see.  Let’s talk about it next week.’

Tuesday turns into Wednesday; Wednesday into Thursday, and days, into days, into days. My daily routine continues.  Wake, ****, coffee, check messages, remain idle.  Saturday rolls around.  Still no news from you.  I have the gruesome twosome over for a visit - your mother and my mother.  All they do is fuss, fuss, fuss.  I’m not sure why they don’t think that I can’t manage the house on my own?  I know you’ll be laughing at that when you read it. No really, they’re alright.  I must admit, I’ve had a rough couple of days, and I'm glad to have their company.  And, for the first time, I’m looking forward to Shrink-Tuesday.  I realise that I’m not coping.  I just need you back.  We go for a ride.  They both insist.  We stop-off for a quick bite to eat at Bernies Café (you love that place). With lunch finished, your mother wants to visit your father’s grave.  You know how much I hate cemeteries.

En route to the cemetery, and within twenty minutes we arrive.  I want to stay in the car, but those two wont’ have it.   ‘You came for fresh air.’  Fresh air yes; to walk among the dead, no - how creepy.  They mean well, so I acquiesce.  We arrive at your father’s grave.   Mum and I, our arms intertwined, watch as your mother, after sitting down on her portable chair, places fresh flowers on his grave.  Your mother is talking him, I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can still tell that she misses him.  Your mother’s done.  I am more than ready to leave.  As I turn to go, mum pulls me back, ‘Go on David, it would be such a waste if you didn’t say hello.’  I can hear your mum’s voice behind me ‘Hello Janine, we’ve come for a little visit.  And look who I have with me?  David.  David’s come to visit you’.  I hear your name, and I become paralysed.  I want to run but I am unable to move. Mum is now standing in front of me, and like a mother with her child, she takes me in her arms, and slowly turns me around.  My eyes are closed.  I don't want to see.  But I know they can't stay closed forever.  I open my eyes, and it’s there.  I can see it - the tombstone.  Mum’s holding onto me, and all I can hear is my silence. Silence and my tears.  There’s so much I want to say.  But I can’t.  It hurts so much, that I can’t speak.  And what could I say that I’ve not said in the past 3 months?  I miss you.  Things are so lonely here without you.  And I just want to know, when you’re coming back.

Kyra
doesn't give anyone beera beera
Rosaline
doesn't have a friend in Joseline
Reena
doesn't mind Tina
Eva
could be a typical diva
Janine
doesn't seem to be sanguine
Laurel's
favorite color is probably coral
Sheila
doesn't remind me of a monster as in gila
Abe
probably doesn't need to be saved
Casey
probably likes pizza as in Shakey's
Soledad
probably has been in the caverns names Carlsbad
Fredricka
wishes she had a dog as in a golden retriever
Irene
maybe models herself after Darlene
Jane
she's sane
Joan
doesn't moan
over losing a loan
on and on