"leashed" poems
I met a friend today
His name was Death
He smiled big with pure white teeth
And minty fresh breath
I asked him what he did for a living
Staring blankly at me, batting his eyelashes
He did the opposite of giving
What did that mean?
But the closer I got to Death
The better I understood his scheme
In his sharp black suit he won me over
I felt an irresistible draw
Like to a diamond in the rough, or a four leaf clover
He convinced me of the beauty in the night
That when the moon was hidden from view
There was nothing better than the lack of light
He led me from my lust for life
Sang to me in my sleep
Whispered sweet nothings and handed me the knife
I tried to pull away from my newly found friend
But his choke hold was so tight
On him I started to depend
The world could see me deteriorate into nothing
He held me harder and closer
With shortness of breath I stood huffing and puffing
Enclosed in the lackluster of our friendship I became numb
The emotions drifted with my vitality
I tried to retrieve them but could only attain 1/5th of my former sum
The more time you spend with a person
The more you become like them
I suppose I couldn't see the situation worsen
Collar around my neck he leashed me like a dog
I cared so deeply for him
My haze filled mind ignored the dense fog
I came to terms with my life long trap
Death circled like a satellite around my position
No matter where I went he found my place on the map
Eventually I succame to this fate
Despite his control
Death, I could not hate
I loved him too dearly to notice the signs
I couldn't think clearly
His presence was odious and it wasn't benign
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
I always suspected electricity
Ran rampant through my veins
To make me dazed and dizzy
But unable to sit still
It made me prone to flights of fancy
So I left giddy trails of sparks
Blazing proof of my restlessness
That once brightly caught your eye
Once your gaze had found my own
My moods came in swooning flares
And you crackled alongside me
Filling my aching, empty silence
With shiny, blessed noise
We burned so beautifully
With my electric fire
And your trilling declamations
Light and sound intertwining
Like thunder that had finally caught up with its lightning
It seemed like Nature's order
A completion of the whole
Two halves that followed each other
Unthinkingly and automatically
So one day when I found silence
It felt like Earth itself was splitting
Panicked, I burned more brightly
Stoked the fire just in case
I feared that I had dimmed
And been the cause of this new quietness
So when I still heard nothing
I thought my efforts insufficient
And I ran my highest currents
Until my wires nearly melted
Thinking the sun and I were comparable
And anticipating a response
And still I heard no trilling
No crackling at my side
So I wondered if perhaps
I had shined beyond your limits
Swiftly, I contracted
Reined in my flares and doused the fire
Thinking sudden darkness
Might just shock you into sound
I finally heard the faintest popping
Not quite the rending that I wanted
But a break from quiet all the same
Afraid of spoiling the moment
I leashed my electricity
Kept myself dim so I could hear you
Though I felt the writhing beneath my skin
It finally became unbearable
So I flashed like wild lightning
Lashed out and struck the ground
Hoping for your thunder
A dark and roiling storm
Swirling raindrops and clouds colliding
And deep, ugly noise
All I wanted was your thunder
But in the end
It was only me yelling
Screaming out for downpours
Alone
Listening to my own echoes
Waiting for you to harmonize
In the end
I was always waiting
Wondering when you'd chosen silence
Wondering why I'd let you dim me
Wondering how it was we'd ever burned
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
The sun bakes down heavily on a plastic micro planet in Orlando, Florida
where crowded trams drop American bushels of tourists into an alien world.
Quickly fantasy comes alive
through a corporation of disguise.
The workers mask themselves in a drapery of familiar life
-like costumes to charm little children’s hearts.
They smile wildly, carving a clear dimple line on the but of their cheeks. Walt’s Disney World
must have driven every one of America’s circuses out of business.
The flying trapeze is too elegant,
people now want to be strapped in,
buckled up and whipped around
to forcibly experience the true velocity of entertainment.
Even the participant’s attire is geared for this third world oblivion. Neon ***** packs rest like bloated kangaroo pouches
on fat sweaty old lady’s round hips, their plump fingers
holding on to leashed harnesses reined to their child’s small chest.
This is vacation,
strangers of people in massive conglomerations
with confused expressions and burnt faces.
Even the food seems wickedly unnatural,
like an artificial order of burning plastic and sour dough surprise.
Waiting is the enthusiast’s pastime as parades
of anxious voyeurs are captivated by a trance
fixation of lights and whistles.
They line up like schools of lemming,
plunging on rides,
one by one.
This is the place
Where memories are made
And dreams come true
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC
he asked me why
I'd absorb his ardent spirits
and chain want of soul
he knows why
I demand total control
...to convey my lust for pleasurable pain
this ache in thighs
denies an uttered sigh
as I cry inside with lust
strutting before him in nylon and pumps
he jumps through hoops, leashed;
he begs and flex, hungry for what is next
while I slap his hardened ****
tick tock its almost time
unwind and rock
to tease and please
I think not;
as heat of breath
taunts each slap of ****
his moans go unclocked
...as he loses control
Mistress, please he begs and moan
how long? watching hardness grow
long, strong in fits of hunger
he whispers and drools,
Mistress!!!!!
...your sweet ambrosia I know
eager beggary to be unleashed
ready to pounce
unload every ounce
but, I won't as I blindfold
and ring his ****
fore, his time is still
on the clock...tick tock
I smile, while he gropes
in the dark...leashed...now bark!
tell me! are you hard enough?
...I tease and taunt him some more
**** now hard as a rock...lash of whip...whack
...in your corner...I'll be back...after Jack laps wet ******
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC
Moon princess
always- too volatile
for a prince or king-
stranded in a cold crater
created from some flaming
tongue lashing then leashed.
Some stupid *** quote says:
"If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best"
But it should really be:
"If you can't handle me at my worst then maybe I ought to go the **** away until you can tolerate me again because I'm not in any position to foist my shitstorm on anyone"
Or maybe I should stick to the original
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
To break free
That is commonly said
For things such as cages and chains
Though there exist
The chain that binds
For things such as relationships
The dog that is bound
To a leash and tree
Seeks the pleasure to be free
But there are dogs
Happy to be leashed
As they are well fed and safe by the tree
So do we break
Or keep the sake
Of the chains that bind, we
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
Leashed by loves lynch till I’m dropped by my lack of respect for the beauty’s presence
Thank god she wasn’t curbside taking tips with perked lips for a stranger’s ****** fix,
But I needed to feel the evidence that the pieces fit,
That’s why this is about me and a barstool princess
Getting close enough to taste the moans of vodka’s venom
Get close enough so I can know my needs can be fulfilled
Like a lunar eclipse this species keeps grinding its teeth when teased
Time and time again we’ve been taunted by,
The mistress our ancestors once described as the serpent of Eve,
When procreation was preached as an STD
Yet we’ve been perpetually pivoting,
To defy the chastity of a species
Grandfathered misconceptions relating to why you and I exist
As wickedness warms in the covers of the lustfully parallel
So let’s drown in this bliss,
From head to toe, eye caught, grazes at the nose,
From the bar stool to a lonely man’s home,
From one dollar tips for two *** and cokes
To the bedroom of this writing,
The nights like this, that remind me I am alone
But this isn’t about me loathing the fact that I won’t hear her whispering for more body warmth,
Nor am I looking for you to pity me because I’ll be sleeping solo
Enough is enough since we are humans seeking ****** catacombs
I’ll try to be an adult about how the human molds but it started me at childhood,
When those that conceptualized love gave me this world,
And now I no longer have to listen to what I’ve been told
This is about how to perceive something we can never truly control,
Lucky enough to avoid a contraceptive despite unable to remember the doctor’s pull,
Its night’s like this I get to question,
When will my sheets meet the perfect fit?
When will this be more than just a humanizing fix?
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
How could I,
Let myself be oblivious,
Miss all the red flags,
Ignore the warnings the universe was sending me.
I got cut.
A million shreds of pain stuck into me.
The way he looks at me glues to my hair.
His words became needles thread through my skin.
His touch on my body became tattoos of pressure.
Seeing him alive became my biggest fear.
I want to peel off my skin,
Start over again.
Untouched,
Unharmed,
Un-youed.
So I bought a new bra,
And rebooted a brand new me.
But no matter how new I am,
No matter how many bras I buy,
I keep falling back.
You've got me leashed.
Trapping me,
Until I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
I
can't
breathe.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 3:08 PM UTC
Where it all started...
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2018179/only-a-dumbass-man-could-love-a-smartass-poodle/
<•>
The Obvious Fact: Dogs Have Souls
******** poodle, of prior fame, suggests*
"surely this ditty will trend before one reads to the very end"
1. as everyone loves dogs
2. especially smart poodles
3. who writes soulful poems
really, here we are talking and you are gazing into my brown eyes adoringly,
and
you humans
still debate if there is a
god?"*
and then dog yawned,
a gigundo doggy yawn,
which is a supernatural,
miraculous biblical thing to behold
<•>
for no reason other than gravity
man says,
sometimes my earbuds fall out of my ears,
without provocation, of their own accord,
to remind that though they're in,
the music isn't in,
and neither
am I anywhere real, concrete,
existential,
to be found
which prompts a furious philosophical poodle to man discourse,
as to my exact whereabouts
badass poodle quotes Joan Baez (Diamonds and Rust):
"My poetry was lousy you said,"
and to verify my geo-physical locus,
and his opinion of the human's written hocus pocus
poetry,
gentle farts and adds, low growling,
"there your are!"
how I love that
centered, down to earth,
in my bed, in my heart
dog
<•>
"Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action."
Goldfinger
a favorite phrase from a movie of one's youth.
that rises to the surface, when smartass-u-know-who
reads my weak human mind and yes,
farts twice more, adding poetically:
*"the best things in life always
come in threes,
her, me, and you"*
"glad to be included," I replied,
to which he licked his
privates publicly,
adding lowly,
*"every smart poodle need a leashed human,
as if any self-respecting poodl could or would
type their own poems,
who's
the *** now!"*
and we got up, got the leash
(for human to carry)
put our earbuds in,
went for a sunrise
sniff-walk-and-compose
on the beach
the two **********
arguing
which Pandora station to turn on,
two only love poets, both thinking of their shared
her
finally, compromising, in tail wagging agreement on,
The Righteous Brothers
<•>
p.s. lol, only a ******* man could love a ******** poodle.
~
8:33am
8/11/17
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
In the beginning of it all
thoughts of cleanliness and being tall
for adventure, comfort has it been
leashed, and feeding alive and scene.
Lovely as it ever was,
thoughts of lines and warm buttery hugs.
But, at the linear edge
projection extends a skinny hand
mother, father, and like minds of friends that linger
stand behind each delicate finger,
and maps are drawn,
but until the dawn
of too late and too little
you shall never lay eyes on the maps they whittle.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
I open the blinds and see the world - in return, what
does the world see? It sees me, and all my splendid, split
personalities, living these amazing times, of amazing
pleasures, in which we tweet tweets, and post posts re
ego-trips and copyrighted links, videos and things; and,
as stray dogs, we ramble randomly, and all the time,
living in our infinite worlds, of infinite lanes, till infinity;
yet we suffer so much pain.
Our Shih Tzus take us on extended walks, firmly leashed
to our Koss plugs, as we drone cool tunes on multihued
iPods, iPhones buzzing ringtones of tittering babies,
stolid kings and hyperactive frogs, which would all make
my eighty-six year old dad want to gag; we fly
ultralight megaplanes at the sonic sound of speed,
through virtual and real space, connecting dots at low-
cost prices, while we belt-up, gear-up, gulp Gaga and
gorge heat-inducted meals of deer, horse and over-
promoted crap; and then, wow surprisingly, we are all
so unsatisfied.
We consciously all move-in together, and **** on end,
like statistical sheep, pre-married, unloving, and broken
up, and justify it all, to ourselves, with our fully
stretched spandex morality, over low-carb brunches
@Starbucks, two 14” screens of separation; we paint
pornographic images of virgins, all called Mary, in the
name of art, and, white-clad, **** babes and alter-boys,
and penetrate each other, first with our fingers, deeply,
then superficially, without even wondering, for a
zeptosecond, why we can’t stand one another any
longer.
We crank-up dependencies, like high street mainliners,
shamming and slaughtering for neurotoxic fixes of
smileys and Crystal on billion-dollar Kogo yachts, while
we all just pedal on, dispassionately, down and over
interior canals, to the core of our hocked, abbrev lives,
chronically connected and severely distracted, in
aromatic polymer bubbles, heedlessly cruising through
comic-strip farms of mock vegetables, surely to nowhere
and towards no one; and quite frankly, the world laughs
at all this, and sobs, and so do I.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
oh **** off...
migrant crisis my ***
what with Ukraine
happening?
East European...
how about western women?
Manchester mothers?
no?
oh well....
watch my face...
do i ******* look
like i, might, care?!
no... no?!
well...
thank you...
because?
i don't!
i'm thinking: let them
**** your harlots...
you managed to call my ethnicity,
vermin.... RATS....
whatever ally you
had... gone...
next time you ask, ask
a Pakistani to deal with your women...
i'll be most obliged...
to tell you:
**** OFF!
no... you told me once,
you do not assert the stature of telling me
twice...
i don't care whether it is
or whether it isn't your island...
you violated, or at least your
citizen, the rules of p4rivate property...
no...
nein nein nein!
for once i'll turn the volume
to a Reading Park volume:
**** you!
and your ambitions
of a mastering of the races...
claiming quasi Boar fixture;
******* capitalists...
with their made in china of
what used to be the manufacturing jobs...
arbeit macht frei...
arbeit macht frei...
arbeit ist frei...
mein, mein, herr...
made in china..
my *** my *** was made in china...
your argument for liberty?
hardly comprised in Monaco.
yes, those Eastern European
women...
pretty much as those ***** whip
Western European men...
the sort of men:
shy of death...
one you almost
wish to **** with a bludgeon
that might leave fingerprints;
lesson no. 1...
you come after Eastern European women...
lesson no. 2:
there are no Western European
"men" to come after...
sure... *******
little men...
something between
petting an in between
petting a panda and a koala;
totally castrato,
just the way Western Women like
their men to be...
obedient...
pussy-whipped...
leashed.
mind you...
what are the thoughts
of an Eastern European man
concerning Western women?
and, why,
would, i, heaven, and, hell,
on, earth, ever,
want, to, **** this,
exercise, in, making,
equivalent, raising,
a, ******* brat?!
i don't want these women,
no more than the women
want me...
apparently Pakistanis are
in higher demand.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
Nothing hurt like
Finding you another time kissing
Nothing felt like
You when you weren't there
Making charcoal of my heart.
Nothing turned like
My stomach when I found
Your sick love letters
Half for me, half for him.
Nothing scarred like,
Leaving when I did,
Nothing broke like
The headlights on my fortune 'van'
You and I felt
Like a rope that pulled at my neck
I was leashed and leaded
Heavy feet aplod
Nothing happened when
I came back
Nothing familiar felt when
I had changed so much
From the pain
Different words flowed
From my cleaner lips
And little passed when
I saw you once more.
But we talk
But we see one another
But I turn aside
But you don't,
I see your smile
Your dew dropped laughter
Perhaps the morning cold
Froze the heat within you.
Nothing flickered when
We looked deep in each other's eyes
Nothing flew when
Words skipped between us
Nothing sparked when
You took my hand in yours
Nothing forgotten, but
It felt so good for you to hold me again.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
Sweet Love,— but oh! most dread Desire of Love
Life-thwarted. Linked in gyves I saw them stand,
Love shackled with Vain-longing, hand to hand:
And one was eyed as the blue vault above:
But hope tempestuous like a fire-cloud hove
I’ the other s gaze, even as in his whose wand
Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spann’d
The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove.
Also his lips, two writhen flakes of flame,
Made moan: ‘Alas O Love, thus leashed with me!
Wing-footed thou, wing-shouldered, once born free:
And I, thy cowering self, in chains grown tame,
Bound to thy body and soul, named with thy name,
Life’s iron heart, even Love’s Fatality.’
1.8k
I am in the coffee shop.
You wish you were.
Your snouty head is one great flappy nostril.
Your belly is huffing and I know if I could hear you
You'd be whining.
Your eyebrows are raised in a way
that defies (or proves) evolution theories.
Your pinkly jowls dripping with the mixed
urban aroma of cars, pigeons, and
smelly bipedal mammals.
An olfactory carnival.
You sit on the pavement red-leashed to a bike,
a statue of solemn dignity as passerby
pause to scritch your ****
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
She stood at the edge of a deep rock
leashed to the side of the sea
with foam biting at her feet
and waves barking at her.
She breathes a salt stenched air
and watches its jaws open
only to see a sailor
rotting between its teeth.
She swallows air whole,
call it courage or stupidity
but she takes a step towards it.
Now the hound named
"Sea"
became full
once more.
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 7:47 PM UTC
My dissatisfaction does not come from you,
It is not a reaction to your moods or your sometimes bleak outlook,
Nor your terrible self-imaging.
I remember laughing late into the night.
I recall with clarity falling in love with a woman who loved the world we found ourselves in and we laughed till we cried drunk on life and each other.
I sometimes wonder where that woman went.
At times I believe you when you say you whither within a relationship.
At times I believe that is part of my curse.
I do not choose a woman who is content to bake cookies and clean the house,
Though you do those things,
I chose you in your glory with all your lust and love and life.
Yours is a heart meant for freedom and no matter how loosely connected we are I am still the tether to which you are leashed,
And you are chaffing.
I do not want to let you go,
Nor have you asked to,
Yet what are we to do when the life you once celebrated is now oppressed from the summer heat?
I cannot offer shade cool enough to calm the fire smouldering inside of your breast.
Thus my dissatisfaction does not come from you,
Rather my bleak understanding of our future,
One I hope you know that I will do everything I can to discard.
I would have you happy and content.
I would have me the same.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
Just down by the lights
at brokenland
there is a small patch of wilderness and a park,
where three cats roam.
The first is white with big splotches of grey
as if it built its camouflage
betting last winter would never end
now an easy spot amongst the hill of green.
The second was a dark grey
the color of the shade under a pine tree
on a partly sunny day
or a storm cloud ready to light up the sky.
The third was black head to toe,
body slim like that of a dancer,
and eyes of bright amber that shined like searchlights
even with a sky full of clouds.
The first I saw on high alert
nose up high, ears pointed, standing tall
a dog down the hill of unkempt grass
it’s owner leashed and in tow.
The second I saw on the hunt,
weaving in and out of wildflowers
leaping and pouncing gracefully,
steadily and quickly traversing the hillside.
The third I saw leisurely sitting by the road,
legs folded underneath it on a rotting log
watching traffic like a king on its throne
yet in seeming awe of its steady flow.
I have seen each cat only once
always when I am moving boxes to the new house
and I wonder if they have an owner
among the white row houses off Little Patuxent.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
In the sheets of drizzle below the autumn cloud
eyes beaming with the glow of love
wave at the receding figure
to the farthest visibility.
The man leashed to the cubicle with the screen
would think of those faces
when the day is at its broadest invitation
and light like the luminous ether
fills every dark pocket of the land
listening to the rhyme of the clock
from his abyss of ratios and rates
while the vagabond clouds come together
and break apart in the game of revealing blue
painting new faces and waving hands
on the landscape of the gate
up to the farthest turn
in the sheets of drizzle
beneath the autumn clouds.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC
He looked at me with hunger,
But not like a wolf to a sheep,
He stared at me in awe,
Because of me he didn't sleep.
I knew he wanted me first,
He was practically a puddle,
When I shook his hand,
All he could do was stutter,
When I was intrigued,
He came a bit too near,
And he nibbled and chewed,
But I didn't have fear,
I let him inside me,
In all the ways he wanted,
I was literally wasted,
From then I was haunted,
He slapped my thighs,
And held on real tight,
He liked that noise,
When I'd squeal just right,
He'd look at my lips,
Just plump and pink,
He'd lean in and bite them,
I couldn't even think,
I couldn't stand him,
I hated him so much,
But I was defenseless,
I was lost in his clutch,
I was leashed and tied,
Lost in his lies,
I was addicted to sin,
He'd opened my eyes,
I loved how he touched me,
He knew what was right,
I hated how he held me,
It was always too tight.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
Logically, I know sugar on the occasion
Is healthy in moderation
Same with pleasure
I am viewing life in extremes
The pendulum swinging
Side to side
Never finding
Middle ground.
I am ***** for fooling around
And a ***** for only holding hands
I am fat for having something sweet
And rigid for measuring
Fear is what keeps me stuck
Rules I created are what
Keep me leashed
No better than an animal tied to a post
Waiting to be unhooked
To take a decent **** in privacy.
Is that my life?
Tightly leashed to my insecurities
How else will I grow
Unless I loosen the reigns?
Out of control!
The voice shouts
Just a little looser please
I feel suffocated
And I am bored of the same old scenery
I need a change
And these chains
Are beginning
To dig into neck
Peirce my skin and flesh.
When did the collar get so tight?
There once was a time
I acted on intuition
Suddenly I am in this submissive position
By my own disposition
What a sticky situation
To be in.
I am no *********
But I’ve created and casted
This rule ridden life
That has forbidden anything good
This pain has lasted long enough
Almost three years
I didn’t think my fears
Could have such stamina
And it seems that things are getting worse
Lack any improvement.
I am waiting for it to die out
But it might **** me first
Unless I stick a knife
Into this demon of mine
It will continue breeding
Infiltrating
The sanity of my mind
Stealing away a chance for a better life.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
The lightning
A sharpness of illumination
The charged ions, her hands.
I want to join her
Her vehemence, her power, her random abandon
Her ardency, her benevolence
She strikes the earth with a tremendous blast
And cracks the crags of cenozo
The snapping of her leashed dogs
Excite the nightro
gen
I shall climb the mountains to the west
I have to yell loudly into the atmos in hopes of her hear
I will thunderously dance under her wet and hope its tears
If answered, I shall join my love in the aether, and become one with her.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC
*“The *** or ethereal soul is associated with the Liver System, and is the aspect of consciousness that continues to exist—in more subtle realms—even after the death of the body.”*
When *** walks, I walk. When he wanders, untethered, I go with him. With her. My eyes close, and hun’s will be wide. He leads the way.
She leads me, away from my bed to stand at window, which I open.
*** will lift the sash so I can lean out over the street where someone is screaming.
Always screaming.
Known to walk after the body dies, *** is roused by this call.
But the chill, the smell of the distant river, wakes me. And *** retreats.
I’ve been told to put bells on my window so I will wake when it’s opened. When I open it.
The bells of the Cathedral ring in the dark hours of all this animation: wandering spirit of my organs, custodial ghost of my art.
He wants me grounded. She wants me flown.
I am here, I tell him—her: not lost. Aloft.
A-sleep or awake, I am led, leashed, walking in the wake of our odd arrangement.
-- by Nathaniel Bellows
st.. 25 march 2014
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
When she opened the door and saw him standing there
Her first thought was
Holy crap he's so obsessed that he swam the Atlantic!
Well, his hair was dry
So she realized this thought was not reasonable,
But she couldn't formulate a second thought
Because that's when the shock started to set in
And all she could say was
"You exist!"
Awestruck,
Reaching out to make sure he was solid.
It was just like she'd imagined.
His lithe, sniper-trained body stood less than an inch
Above her own over-worked and over-fed frame,
And his brogue-heavy voice tumbled out
Without a type-face to give it cadence:
"You exist, too…"
Palm to palm they stood there,
Staring wonderingly at the other,
Unconsciously twining their fingers as though,
If they didn't hold on,
They'd flicker out like a computer shutting down.
On her fifteenth birthday she'd told him
"I'll be eighteen in three years. Then I'll come see you."
And in those days
The Atlantic Ocean didn't seem like such a big thing.
It seemed that its breadth was just a story moms told to keep their kids from wandering off,
From sneaking out and stone-skipping across its waves
Until they splashed up on some foreign beach.
Dimly, she thought she could flatten herself out
And fling her body so that she'd bounce her way across the ocean
Right to his door.
In those days
She was leashed by a modem,
Bound by the words typed out in real-time;
"I can't wait until I'm eighteen. We'll finally see each other."
On her eighteenth birthday,
She no longer wore her computer collar,
And she wasn't thinking about him
Or the Atlantic.
But looking at him standing in her foyer,
She couldn't quite remember
When two screens and a modem
Became too fragile to bridge two continents.
Virtual hugs crumbled under real life kisses;
LOL couldn't replace actual laughter;
Emoticons couldn't replace ****** expressions.
For all that she loved him,
Something was missing,
Lost in IP addresses and chat rooms,
Only to be found again
Dropping its luggage on her bedroom floor.
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 6:42 PM UTC