Our worries
tangled,
your heated
breath sighed,
and my fingers
sweat traced
condensation trails
when in a sudden
inhale,
I felt
my surging
rain of laughing
tears wash
us both away
in our cloud
of cotton.
The darkness
gave it purpose
so the lamp
with the fleur-de-lis
bent its light
and cast
more dead flowers
to the floor
not knowing
my shaking fingers
wet with tears
would pull the cord
and finally shock
the living daylight
through me
Her grasping fingers
pull you in
till closed eyes
absorb
the powdery
fear
that bullies
might torment her
if that rose petal nose
should ever grow
to match yours
so let
that tear
linger on your lips
and taste
the injustice
of the lover
who could ever
hook her
with thorny promises
then leave her
sobbing
dab and
dawdle
lip to rosy skin
until you realize
she’ll always be
too innocent
to tell you
that you just
did it wrong.
I Learned From the Best of Them
Bent over
in a mocking bow,
he should not
be jealous
of what I know.
For my fingers
know the quick wind
of a knife blade
taunting closer,
in a father’s control
of his child’s fear.
My eyelids know
the pain of closing
while trying
to look straight
ahead.
My back felt the spaces
welt between the bars,
the blackness of blood
on my white sheets.
I knew how
to hold it all inside
until my keyboard grabbed
my fingers tight
and forced them all
to fly away.
The Etch-a-Sketch
could draw me in
enticing my flexing fingers
to anticipate the feeling
of the erratic twisting
of its creamy knobs.
Hours would pass
before my neck would lift
in a final decision
to wipe it all clean
by flipping it over
and shaking it senseless.
My desire to leave
my artistic mark
with those jagged lines
of metallic entrails
retracing my thoughts
was again proven worthless.
A hundred and one things
compile today;
my back yields to the weight
of all of them.
Yet, my cat must be hugged.
My fingers deep,
press her close
till my breath slows
to her softening purrs.
Yet, my poem must be written
before I sleep.
Digging deep
I try to leave my mark
as blood is seeping
from her scratch on my thigh.
When your hands are small
it is easy to wrap
your fingers
around a candy bar
that you didn’t pay for.
When your fingers
have grown for forty years
guilt can become too heavy
to take.
No scarlet A,
just a white O
around your finger,
the shame of your mistake.
Till a new temptation
melts your loneliness,
and stolen moments
are all you desire.
O,
how uplifting.
She could blame the caffeine
or the thousand and one
details and unmade decisions
that follow her
home from work
waking her up
at 3:07 to throw off
covers and expectations
of a good night’s sleep,
but she doesn’t.
She just stumbles
to the bathroom,
closing her eyes again
to the glare of the light,
only a sliver
squeezing through
while cupping her hands
trying to sip enough
to swallow an aspirin.
She lay back down,
dreams beginning
to slide again
into distorted cubicles
and his accusation
that work
is
her life.
When the alarm finally rings,
its sharpness
reawakens that throbbing headache,
and she finds only a dribble
of relief
rolling onto the coolness
of his side of the sheet.
She could blame him
for her pain
and her thirst,
but she doesn’t,
faulting only her skillful fingers,
unable to catch water
or men.
Talking frogs
and levitating children
danced with mushrooms
in my imagination.
Fanciful sojourns
to mystical places
could hold me
spell bound
for hours at a time.
Then I grew
too busy for books,
my hands caught up
in other tasks.
Untethered,
I have flown
into the place
where exertion
and exhaustion
collide.
If a floating lady
with a sparkling wand
wants to make me
sleep for a thousand years,
then let her.
Slithering worms
I’ve tried to bait,
make me turn away
stabbing them
telepathically
unable to look.
The texture of oatmeal
pressing with my tongue
to the roof
of my mouth
makes me want
to vomit,
knowing it
would look the same
in the bowl.
Sliminess is disgusting,
sludging
with a viscosity
that I can’t abide.
But somehow
the feeling
of pumpkin guts,
squeezng between
my frozen fingers,
squirting slippery seeds
to terrorize my family,
is SQUISHINGLY,
OOZINGLY,
beautiful.