Intersection

Intersection

Link pinkies with me

and take a stroll in Central Park

where we’ll watch the lovers

come and go with strings

around their ankles.

Walking in circles,

Ever-tangled, intersecting

endlessly do lovers and dreamers

run in pinwheels the clichés and

whispers that other lovers and

dreamers have dreamed and loved.

This is the remembrance of

half remembrances. Of

things already said

a thousand times before.

Yet the inconsistencies

and messy bits of string that

bind you and me together paint

their own Monet that

is distinctly us, culminating

colors of you

colors of me.

The lovers walk in twos with

aligned steps with eyes fixed forward

but we laugh and look upside down

at the intersection of our ankles

and the colors of you.

The colors of me.

We are the creators of modern art.

No Longer

You are---
no longer the lover of my dreams.
epitomized in the shadows of my mind,
you were a king.
I was gladly your throne;
showered you with kisses and lavished
covetous looks out of the corner of my eye
- yes, you were
the apple of my eye.

but no longer, no longer
can you stay, my king.
the golden days;
over, broken,
tyranny has fallen.

and I, the nightingale,
loosed out of my cage.
no longer to be made to sing
the mantra of our love-
was it love?

but no longer, no longer,
you are,
no longer.

Yearning

I am breaking apart,
Ringed in my own cage.
Fitting perfectly to the lines
drawn by my own demons.

I cannot break these bars
-You haunt me.

The yearning, thin lilt of the strings
draws my soul out into the chilled night air.
It touches my spine.
I think of you, inevitably.
The spaces between my fingers feel empty and loose,
waiting for your warm hands to fill the gaps.
I miss you, and the smoke from a man's cigar
reminds me of your
steaming breath in the night.

full leaf

we come full circle
the tea leaves swirl
in a spiral of memories
your eyes are warm and alive
and i see your secrets
brimming at the surface
i pour you a cup
would you divulge?

Jaded

Your sweet, deceptive words
honey to the nubile ear
traps my tentative fingers
in your honeycomb
of lies.

the sting pricks
my eyes tear

give me a simple man

Eloquence

All eloquence is gone in Your presence

I’m speechless, whirling, turning, falling.

The smoke gone from the hot coals

-          Of last night’s close embrace

Only leaves its invisible imprint

That clings to my clothes and hair

….yet why…

When I try to grasp that memory

It escapes me…

Just like that tendril wisp of your touch?

Words leave me mute.

As I struggle to describe You.

You who can leave no trace

Leaving only

A hint of your presence.

Leaving me

Hungry for more.

Lord, I yearn for the old me. The person who was so in Love, and willingly so. 

I want a man like Keats

"My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you — I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again — my Life seems to stop there — I see no further. You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving — I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you. [...] I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion — I have shudder'd at it — I shudder no more — I could be martyr'd for my Religion — Love is my religion — I could die for that — I could die for you." (Letter, 13 October 1819).