The dark summer night
hid their desire
till the stars came out
and kissed their skin.
Her breath came slowly
only a sigh
but he inhaled it
till it filled his soul.
The rhythm of the night
lulled her to sleep
and he blew out the stars
with only a sigh.
She taunts me,
her pecking call
digging into my soul,
Hitchcock style.
Cage the rage
of my bully,
and set free
the sweet melodic,
independent tone
of my lifted wings.
You’ve got me
wanting more,
a linguist feast
for the soul,
a plate to lick,
a finger
in the frosting.
Succubus, I crave
words to melt
on the tongue,
to haunt rethinking,
to taffy twist
what thoughts
you knew.
Thesaurus addict,
I can’t be cured,
only left to wallow
in delicious words,
inviting you
to taste.
Some called her weird
because she lived
a purple life,
dressing in various
shades of lavender,
wrapping herself
in velvet scarves
of color.
Wild Wisteria
Orchid Mist
Purple Rhapsody
Misty Violet
Passion’s Breeze
all sent her smiling
till irradiate wafts
of various purples
were painted on her walls,
interwoven into her fabrics,
filled her color plate
and plastered on her soul.
Yet, I couldn’t help
smiling when I saw her
wishing I held another chip
to toss onto her table
just for luck,
a gamble many would not take,
but – oh, the joy in playing.
It started small
just one dish left on the counter
one suitcase sitting by the sofa
one newspaper strewn on the carpet
when eyelids were down
from the depression
of their loss
that started the pile
overwhelming their soul
leaving them buried
in their possessions
till only a path
through the mountain of stuff
allowed a sliver of hope
to escape
until the hoarder
closed their door.
look, look deep into your eyes
behind the color blue
______rimed with darkness
a nebula world, one few know
few care, few will ever see
in twilight, your eyes open
letting in the nights shadows
_______shadows that fill you
shadows that complete you
weaving webs of deceit and fear
beware the dimly lit paths
aglow around you, drawing, pulling
_______like spirit lights on the moors
we will suck you dry and snatch your soul
no second chance, no escape
extreme sadness
____heart empties
into river of tears
hardens
as your face fades
nothing, nothing left,nothing
no you ,no us
_____alone with
just shadows of where you once were
old creaking joints
skin drawn tight
across skinny bones
lips once soft, smooth
pulled slightly apart
reveal yellowed teeth
hideous form caught in time
indurated, it blinks while dreaming
of tea party’s and lacy pink dresses
feeble, mind dull, it stops and grins again
my face, it’s face slid from it’s once firm place
a face that shadows me
useless, feeble, slow when once I know
yes, once I know I ran deer footed
and laughed, laughed out loud
when once I wore those lacy pink dresses
and danced the night away
trailing soft summer flowers
fleeting are our days
count count the hours as they pass
petals drop fore lorn
Bags tied to an old cart
Again and again she stops
Garbage her only friend
Lonely and homeless
Agatha walks on unknown
Day after day seeking cover from the cold
Yielding in the end to the ice and snow
did I remember to forget your kiss
drinking while softly singing your song
did I run out in the rain, too late
where now nothing but silent shadows remain
will you fade from my heart full of pain
I feel the void of everything
and the sky mimics my soul,
blue and vacant,
and I am one with it.
Then a vapor trail
slicing the empty sky
fills the nothingness
with a cloud not made from God.
I see the plane fly over
lifting you to a new place.
The crack in the sky grows bigger
and I begin to sob.
It is cold enough to change
exhaustion into ice.
I can breathe it here on earth
and cry till I feel empty.
People talk of finding their soul mate
with the power to bind themselves
together in their minds,
with their spirits,
their bodies,
connected
for the whole of their lives
and lasting beyond eternity.
I have come to realize
that we are not soul mates,
bound by that magical thread.
There is no psychic power
surging in between us
and the outside forces
that have finally succeeded
in pulling us apart
from the sensuous slippery taste
of our forbidden passion.
Yet here we are
together again.
I love you, chocolate.
Women don’t iron anymore,
the lost homemaker’s art
of standing in the heat
of the afternoon
and sweating
in steam.
They have forgotten the arousing joy
mingled with a crisp scent of starch
giving a sense of accomplishment
earned while gently sprinkling
water from a reused bottle
covered with tiny pokes
in wax paper.
They have lost the repeated repetition
of flexing their upper arm muscles
back and forth, back and forth,
with afternoons of pleasure
not given to erotic sex
but the hot steam
of an iron.
It is harder for the modern woman to prove,
at the end of the day to her untrusting lover,
that she is innocent of unfaithful pressing
between newly starched sheets
without a towering mountain,
of his folded underwear,
her heaps of love
for him.