To Tokyo, With Love

Tentative Tango

One, an unfamiliar smile

I don’t know how to understand.

Fingertips brush my waist, hem

of shirt, pale skin untouched

by sun. Hot breath on my ear,

body to body. Hand resting

in the small of my back. I want to

not want you as much as I do.

Two, palm runs down my side

breast to thigh. Breathe your sharp

scent. Gasp for forgiveness. Push

away, pull me close, make me

melt into seductive warmth.

Mold to match your form.

I am in over my head, and I

like not being able to breathe.

Three, tempo moves too fast,

past the barrier that was your

car door. Pressed to you,

horizontal, clothing optional.

I can’t keep up with four/four time.

Wonder if Eve knew what she

was getting into. Did she know

fear before the fruit?

Four, I can’t understand myself.

Fear, frustration, desire, despair,

give me room to breathe, I’m not

ready to go without air, not ready

to take that bite, not ready to

want you. My skin aches as you

pull away, disappointed. I guess

I don’t know how to dance.

The Boy That Never Was

There’s a candle in my window for

the boy who never was.

It flickers just as brightly as

the laughter in his eyes. The warmth

inside his heart is matched by nothing

but the flame, and the tiny drips

of melted wax, intricate as his mind.

The candle burns to mourn this boy,

the one I could have loved.

He may have lived - this boy, indeed.

But mine he never was.

Autumn

This time of year the rain turns cold.

Amber leaves rustle, threatening to fall.

Before long everything smells of golden brown.

The leaves are most striking right before they die.

They dance in the wind, wild horses with no reins,

As vibrant as a painting from the hands of Van Gogh.

The plunge starts when the will to live minus gravity equals zero.

At last the drop. A gust of wind. Finally, ground.

Once again at rest. Beauty: their last request.

Give it back, the lost color, the lost time.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.

God, will the cycle ever end?

Sweetie

Love, your friend:

Sweetie, the roses are all dying now,

They’ve withered and faded beyond repair.

And though you water them I can see how

They still have gone, despite your watchful stare.

Sweetie, the roses have all bowed their heads,

A sign of goodbye in this cold, dark room.

The stems have gone black and their bodies shed

Their petals and leaves far into the gloom.

Sweetie, sometimes I think you are a rose

He’s drying you up petal by petal.

I watch you lie down and as your eyes close,

I see your heart is now withered, brittle.

Sweetie, you know deep inside this is wrong.

Inside your heart is not where he belongs.

The Boy That Never Was

There’s a candle in my window for

the boy who never was.

It flickers just as brightly as

the laughter in his eyes. The warmth

inside his heart is matched by nothing

but the flame, and the tiny drips

of melted wax, intricate as his mind.

The candle burns to mourn this boy,

the one I could have loved.

He may have lived - this boy, indeed.

But mine he never was.

Breaking Modus Operandi

Mother, I will not ask if you think

he is good for me. Did you know

that before I met him I was, in fact,

unhappy? Shall I listen to Polaris

to find my way north, find my way home?

The scent of rain wafts so sweet, wafts

so gentle wafts so cold. I will

not even mention how your mate

has devoured you, drowned you in lust.

Are you truly loved? Are you lonely?

Have your prayers been answered?

I have been upset by passing time and

pain and heartbreak and ceaseless rain.

I too have been devoured by false loves.

But now he sings softly in my ear

“I feel that when I’m old I’ll look at you

and know the world was beautiful.”

Mother, whatever you may say,

today the lovely sky is blue, the lovely clouds

are white, and the lovely breeze is cool.

To Tokyo, With Love

Long lost lover living out

of sight, out of mind. I find myself

forgetting how it was to lay

eyes upon you, to lay beside

the water, to feel the soft caress

of your whispered words on my

waiting ear. Lover half a world away,

I no longer remember the sharp

glint of your smile, the sensuous

depth of your laughter. All I remember

Is your impossible perfection. Absence

makes the heart grow ill, poisons

memories to be larger than

love. Stay away lover, I fear

you’ll rob me of my love for your

image. I have broken a commandment;

I idolize your memory above you.

T-Minus 21

Twenty-one guns in a sudden burst

he is number six and comes with

a false sense of security and unexpected

endings at no extra cost

run through the flowers to fall off the cliff

  Twenty past birth and settling too young

he is number five and he is easy he is

there he is sweet and he is kind

but he is not wanted

there is no hurt when the time runs out

  Nineteen and accelerating fast

he is number four and he is nothing she

has known before or ever expected

it’s only perfect to a point

so the crash and burn is all the harder

  Eighteen is self-centered and self-loathing

he is number three and he makes her feel

good but he is nothing that she wants

and little that she needs

it breaks her heart to crush his devotion

  Seventeen owns naivete in every color

he is number two and he takes the pale pink

of unearned trust and stains it dark red

with sudden abandonment

it is her first lesson in one-sided love

  Sixteen sweet doesn’t know any better

he is number one and he is her sun

and she is burned by his brilliance

brightness masking flaws

he is the high that will always be chased

  Fifteen to One and more lifetime lived

than the rest combined but somehow less

if they knew what was coming

Perhaps

they wouldn’t have rushed.

Loitering

Smoke curls from the ashen tip

of a long-lit cigarette on a moonless night

The streetlamp light arcs through the rain

tiny diamonds disappearing to dust

He breathes out death, lungs burning

one more light will make it okay,

further from the end, another hour

for the pain to fade a little.

Smoke disappears like the rain in the

navy air, and yet the cool ice of her eyes

is all the more vivid in his empty mind.

Poison Apple

The church is cold as I perch on my pew.

The heater is broken again, third time

this winter. The preacher has begun his

sermon, but all I hear is the silence of your

absence.

My phone rings. It should turn it off,

especially since it’s playing our song.

I know it’s you. I shouldn’t answer.

I stand and duck out to the lobby.

I know judgmental looks are following me.

Your hesitant hello send heat coursing

through my frozen veins, awakening

my stifled senses. Brother Phillip’s

voice echoes over the loud speaker,

but his words are as distant as God.

All I hear is your heavy breathing.