silly goose

I'm a silly little goose
sitting in the muddy pool
of your eyes.
Humming heedlessly
while we're apart,
feathers stained
as black as your heart,
blind as I always was.

a single week

Jazz seeps into the smokey
secret corners of my mind
sharpening lingering pain,
while summer rain falls in sheets,
and your silence kills the heat
where futile hope was born - and died,
in the space of a single week.

submissive

For loving such lips
I yearn to kiss
you punish me brutally
with absence and silence
a greater violence
than any torture
I could conceive
and I wonder my dear
if you're even aware
that in making me wait
you increase this ache
and by refusing to feed
this desperate need
you only succeed
in making me love you
more.

the waltz

We've been dancing
a waltz along this wire,
lovely and lonely,
in silent desire,
careful and cautious,
glancing away
as subtleties play
upon our tongues,
while we try to decipher
the riddles we weave
so others won't see
touch transparent
and passion inherent
as this waltz we dance
transforms into tango,
impassioned and bold,
consuming us whole,
corroding control,
and losing our place
together we brace
for the fall from the wire
into the fire
of forbidden desire
divulged.

who's first

Nothing can compare
to the way you strip me bare.
I am transparent,
tortured and torn,
for through your words
I was reborn,
and now I wait and watch,
while you do the same,
playing this game,
wondering who
between us two,
will be the first to fall,
the first to call,
the first to reach
to crawl, beseech.
I suppose it’s not
much of a mystery
considering torrid history
providing obvious indication,
(overlooking my vacillation)
that the first to reach,
to crawl, beseech,
will probably
be me.

in vain

You think you’re so smart
swallowing every little part
of me
until there’s nothing
left of mesh
over alter-ego
black and harsh
where logic
and fantasy part
and you remain
stoic and staunch
while I scream and claw
a vain attempt to draw
you out …
while helpless I watch
as indifferent you walk
away.

Inspired by this song:

a kitty's pride

Bella steps on careful kitty paws,
traversing the top
of the bedroom armoire -
the highest point in the house
(and therefore the best,)
prideful of her position,
content in accomplished mission...
until she slips and falls
onto the sleeping lump
of the dog below
who yelps and jumps
and in response
she chirps a meow
(an apology perhaps?)
curls up on the bed
and closes her eyes.
The bed's more comfortable
than the armoire
anyway.

lawyer

A lawyer sits
in a suit and tie,
dark brown hair
darker eyes,
collecting my words
silently - still,
biding his time
to move in for the kill.
Again.

triple cancer

Like a child I cry
for a toy out of reach,
and seek entertainment
by my own terms.
But silent he stands,
staunch and firm,
encased in a shell,
with barely a squirm
as I poke and prod
in an attempt to disarm
the man who's immune to
all of my charms...
Or perhaps he's simply
onto this ploy
and isn't content
to be a mere
toy.

by the door

Sleep is a lover unseen
And you say it seems
You’ve forgotten our talks
Over cards and beer
You can’t seem to hear
A straightforward message
Screamed in your ear
So in response
You sleep on the floor
And curse your dreams
While awake I weep
And stand by the door.

the sleeping me

The little me
sleeps and schemes
projecting illusive
dreams,
dancing with maya
and avoiding the fire
that could wipe it's karma
clean.
And the soul sits
in prayerful pose
waiting to be
seen,
smiling gently
at sleeping me
seduced by how
it seems.

grave robber

He stands in the shadows,
black suit and tie
prying open
our dark moldy coffin
Why? I cry,
helpless to stop him,
as each rusty nail
falls to the ground
without a sound
wood splinters and
I can only observe
heartbeat unsteady
this grave robber
back for more
whose stolen too much
already.

(P.S. - Rusty nails are dangerous. I hope you get tetanus.)

creation

How infinite the mind of the One,
laden with latent possibility
dormant in the microcosm of
the "me" struggling stupidly
to comprehend
the simple complexity
of the continuum of
constant and cohesive
creation.

strings

He pulls my strings
and I dance and sing
a melody born of dreams
and it matters not
if what he says is true
for the way he pulls
upon these cords
very few can do.

tied

I watch the wind
whip passion through the trees,
and whispering to my heart
I promise to better tend
to the garden blooming within,
to daily inspect the strength of string
that’s tied from it,
to you.