July 22, 2011

Is romance dead?

Given that I'm a "romantic at heart", it is pretty difficult to keep hopes revved up for the love of my life. So far I've been with the "Momma's Boy" of my life, the "Let's Text but never commit to the word Dating" in my life and others which are worth the printing out...

I've done the online dating via Eharmony, Match.com, BBWdatefinder sites and have come away with either stories which wouldn't be believed in movie flicks or tales of warning for other females. I've met countless men, fooled around with plenty of them and been in one sided relationships up to kneecaps.

It's dawned time and time again, that I am either making some really bad decisions in my dating life.. or have a stamp on my forehead which reads "She'll fall for you if you feed her enough attention to make it look as if you're really interested".

Harsh? Nope. I prefer the word honest.

So is romance dead? I don't believe so. I've seen a handful of my galpals fall in love - one actually met her fellow on Match.com. But that is one out of what percentage? That's what needs to be seen.

And to answer my question about romance? No. It's not dead. But it's stupid, blind, lost and kinda confused about who and what I'm seeking.

July 21, 2011

Short Story: Pictures of You

Sitting quietly at the computer and a little message pops up. An exultant smile crosses her face when the identity is recognized. He’s remembered her again and she cannot contain her glee.

They message each other for several moments. All she has of him is a handful of digital photos. And she wonders what he's like in real life.

“I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real"

Never felt his caress, nor walked beside him in the afternoon sun.

But they know each other - he knows several of the secrets she doesn't share with everyone. Their ideals are similar, their tastes are strangely equal. She is able to be herself once more.

The moments before the PC quickly become an hour spent online.

She tries to express herself as best she can but there’s only so much that the keyboard can convey.

By the end of the conversation they share good nights and before turning off her computer she once more looks at the pictures he’s sent her. And sighs.

"I've been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believe that the pictures are
All I can feel”

Short Story: I Could Fall

The road was slightly wet from the quick rainstorm that had fallen while she had been doing some shopping. It wasn't necessary to have the windshield wiper running now since the tiny drops that still coated the moving car were slowly being run off.

Wilhelmina Ann's thoughts were a thousand miles away while she drove along in mid-automatic pilot, recalling moments. Reliving emotions.

Her given name was often a tongue twister for people so she preferred to be called Billy Ann, though it sometimes made men look at her oddly. But she didn't mind it.

She was pretty with large expressive eyes and baby doll features. Her paleness framed by such dark hair simply aided in making her seem more mysterious and gothic. A look she loved to play off with the darkest of lip rouges.

But tonight her thoughts fell backwards into puddles of images. Of him. Her forbidden dream lover. The one she's managed to meet quite by accident. In a noisy coffe shop while waiting for the little old woman in the front of the line to place her order. If it hadn't been for the fact that Billy Ann's need for caffine could be considered an addiction, she'd never had met him.

Her eyes had been glued to the sign above the cashier's head: mocha frappe locha extreme with whipped cream was all she had in her noggin. The pit of her stomach was quivering merely thinking about that first bittersweet swallow of java... when the tiny hairs on the back of her head sprang to life with what she could only describe as 'spider sense'.

Billy Ann laughed as she debated her sanity over the comic book rationalizing while tucking a chunk of locks behind her ears - to play off the casual look around the room.

Standing no more than two customers away was her blonde haired (with streaks that Mother Nature rarely created) hunk. He was tall, tanned and dripping sexuality. Mama mia - just what the good doctor recommended to every single female who hadn't had sex in over six months.

Her rational mind reminded her romantic heart that this one seemed years too young. After that eye contact connection, he introduced himself and managed to convince her to sit together in that loud atmosphere and talked for two hours.

Then every day, for nearly two months after that they would "accidently" cross paths, again and again, while filling up their caffine desires.

There was always that irrational feeling of want whenever the conversation between them became flirtacious and for the twinge of a second she wished his feelings mirrored her own.

A small dip in the road caused her car to swerve a bit. Billy Ann's thoughts quickly focused on the damp streets and she bit her inner lip while turning off the Selenia song playing on the radio. Though they flirted shamelessly, for well over three months now, he'd very frankly indicated that in this "stage of his life" he was not seeking a deeper relationship.

...But she couldn't help but wonder about the "What if's" and the lyrics to the song resonated again within her mind... I could fall in love with you...

Short Story: His Kiss

The warmth of the blanket did nothing to compare with the heat floating in my veins. Tonight had gone better than I'd ever dreamed of. These four walls did nothing to contain my memories of flavor and texture.

Of his kiss.

It was our second date tonight and after walking me to my door. I watched his soot black hair falling into those hazel eyes, the way his casual wear showed off that delicious body. Those mysterious eyes of his which took in everything and gave back promises my body wanted to fulfill.

Yet he held back.

I knew he wanted me. His very gentle caresses during dinner: the brushing of our legs; our hands meeting and holding while awaiting our drinks; the way he would brush my long hair away behind my ears and lingered across my heated skin. It had all be small signals which tickled my insides.

Now as I stood there with my face tilted upwards towards his, he kept simply looking at me. I memorized his subtle wrinkles against the corners of his eyes, the length of those beautiful dark lashes and his expressive lips.

Whomever had declared that men could not be 'beautiful' had never seen this magnificent male standing before me.

Those long thick fingers of his crept upwards and his palm tenderly folded against my cheek. This is it my insides threatened to melt.

My lungs took in his subtle cologne long before my mouth was conquered by his. A sweet, little bite along my bottom lip caused me to gasp and his tongue captured that sound before it was lost to the night. The flavors his lips tasted of was pure intoxication; better than any rum or liquor. His free hand cupped into my derrière and molded us together.

Yes... more... my body pleaded. I could feel him getting aroused right against my body. Seconds evaporated. Minutes converged. Nothing else mattered but him.

But my date pulled back. As if knowing it would be too easy to give into temptation if we continued. A part of me hated his chivalry whilst another secretly enjoyed it.

"For our next date," he promised, before his thumb pad sweetly ran across my bottom lip; before turning and walking back to his car.

Hours later I punched my pillow while smiling. Yes. Our next date. And the promises of more.

Short Story: Death of Love

She sat with her warm back against the wall, feeling on a deeper level the chill coming into the room. The sun had long fallen behind the clouds but she had not reflected on it as she normally would. Today her mind didn't fully register the fact that anything was happening, her thoughts were miles away recalling him and the flowery speech he'd last spoken to her. The very words lingered after he walked out, on her and on their relationship.

After knowing him for nearly three years and making her fall in love with his quirky voice and handsome face, he finally declared that he couldn't love her as she did him. That she would be better off without him since she was the more mature of the two. He was sorry, he said and that it was better this way.

The words had fallen like blows; Emmé was bewildered to remain standing after hearing it. Then amazingly he had smiled at her, given her a quick hug and left. Taking two steps she collapsed against the window seat and had not moved a muscle since then.

He never saw the way her nails had clawed into her smooth palms to avoid aiming them towards his hazel eyes. He would not know how she was counting each breathe to know that she was alive after getting her heart pulled from her chest.

She would personally crawl into hell and dance naked before the devil himself before letting her ex-lover see a single tear she so wanted to shed.

Evening had drifted in gently while her mind whisked a million deeply disturbing thoughts: she imagined crawling into his bedroom like some wraith shadow and sinking a knife into the black pulsating stain where his heart should beat. She wondered running him over with her brand new car, the one she'd brought in his favorite color. Could almost hear the sounds of his brittle bones crackling beneath the hubcapped Michelin tires.

Revenge was said to be sweet.

It was a taste she soon dared to have on her palette.

And only then did the shades of a smile begin to form on her lips.

...several days later...

The stretch of pavement and road ahead of her seemed suddenly shorter the longer she stared at the scene across the way. Even with the huge droplets of rain slipping down her face, hair and body the night chill didn't feel as cold as her insides.

She had waited within the eerily dark alleyway even when the rain had come. The heavyset raindrops had only helped echo the pain that pounded with each heartbeat; making the thud, thud, thud seem more like a pounding hammer.

Her head ached also as she looked at the man and woman playfully trying to shy away from the rain underneath an umbrella that was barely made for one person. Emmé had made plans to come over to his apartment, to let him know that the personal items he'd left at her house were in a box on her doorstep.

Unknowingly she had left them there and they were probably as soaked as she currently was. Not even that mental image brought a smile to her face as she continued to drink in the pair across the way. She saw the ways her ex teased the new woman in his life. From the way his hands curved around the other waist Emmé knew that this was more than just a casual affair.

Had he been seeing this other female while she had been involved with him? Had the kisses she'd covered him with been atop others from this new woman? The couple paused on his doorstep where he brought their faces close and kissed that stranger in a knowing way. Yes, these two were more than a simple date. Then he opened the door, allowed the woman within and walked in behind her.

Emmé's stomach curled and she had to lock her knees to force herself not to crumble. Had she been a fool to love someone who had probably been playing with others when she had believed herself to be the only one?

A thin drop of rainwater dripped into the corner of her left eye; pooled and then ran free down her cheek. Emmé couldn't be completely convinced that it hadn't been Mother Nature helping her to cry since she hadn't been able to on her own.

As she stood there, feeling the pangs of disgust pulsate within her breast while the rain slowed until nothing remained but the dark skies and soaked pavement, buildings and woman.

Emmé’s hands came up, pulled the mess of hair off her forehead, and smoothed the strands behind her ears. Dark thoughts of revenge began to rage within her ~ she wanted to tear this piece of earth off the face of the world and flush it away.

And then it happened.

A feeling of release cracked through her pain and to Emmé it felt as if her heart began again.

One tiny pulse.

Of life. Of renewal.

After a moment, the rainwater felt lighter and before Emmé's surprised eyes she saw the moon breaking free of the dark clouds. Its shimmering face seemed to call her name. This is a sign. Let him go and continue.

Emmé looked towards the building once more and her stubborn chin tilted up. To hell with him. The rain was nothing more than a small drizzle now and though she was soaked through and through, she now felt as if she'd been baptized in nature's tears; now cleansed. The moonlight seemed to follow her as she turned the corner of the building and walked off into the night.

Short Story: A Lifetime

Does it truly take a lifetime to get over someone? I wonder sometimes if decisions I've made along the way were correct. Try to compensate the errors created by giving excuses and constantly burying regrets.

I've long been taught that "if you love something set it free, if it returns, then it's meant to be"... but it doesn't always work out.

Your dreams become nothing more than a sad song for someone else to write about. Your desires are stamped down and slowly burrow into the dark earth. Your wants are sometimes ignored.

It's said that we can't have everything we wish for.

I wish for the love of sad songs - the one other women will hear about and weep silently, wishing he was theirs.
I wish for a happiness found in romance novels and chick flicks.
I wish for a man who will love me moreso than I'll love him - because want to be his beyond this lifetime and into the next.

Does it take a lifetime to get over someone?

Sometimes it sure feels that way.

Wicked Bean Dreams

The subtle scent of coffee on his breath tantalizes my nose
whenever he leans over to speak.
Making me wonder if Juan Valdez ever knew
how much of an aphrodisiac his Java juice is.
I envy the liquid coffee beans,

which have caressed and danced

upon those taste buds.
Doing things within that lush mouth

that I have but fantasized of.

Who Needs Perfection?

I seek none
May his lovely smile have a few crooked teeth
Or his eyebrows look like bat wings
Hope he chews his fingernails to stubs
Or snores slightly when deep with his sleep
I want imperfection
For I search for love with a normal man
Who wants imperfect me

When Do You Release a Dream?

When do you release a dream?
Perhaps it's when the heart cries out once too much.
Or is it when you no longer feel the passion of life?
All I can tell you is that something inside broke today.
Somewhere that no one had touched for a long time.
The loss of this makes me feel no better than dirt.
Imperfect in my humiliation and suffering.
My soul drags behind me like a tattered cloth
that can never fit comfortably again.

Violin Strings

As the violin strings tense,
waver and beauty arises from them
the hairs on the back of my neck prick,
these eyes water.
This song still haunts me
the same as images of his face still do
within each restless collection of repeative daydreams.
Never to forget that one time
we sat on his five dollar coach,
listening and belonging to a world all our own.
Each tightly pulled string caressing my heart
as the pads of male fingers once did
upon my pale, tearful cheeks.
No maestro held an instrument as delicately
as those hands touched my heart shaped face,
erasing wet traces of goodbye from my eyes.
I loved then.
Sitting in the darkened living room,
aching for the seconds to stop
and that forever could stay a while
so I would not be without him.
Was his finest masterpiece.
For a while.

Until Then

Pressing my pale hands against the cold airplane windows
trying to, in some small way, hold onto him for a second more.
I don't know if he can even see me.
Almost happy he can't -- my eyes hurt from all I've cried
I can feel as the engines come to life beneath
my seat; for a brief moment I panic
as my journey homeward once more begins.
I feel as though the strange puzzle which is my life has suddenly
been thrown onto the floor and some pieces shall never be found.
All the heartfelt tears that soaked onto his
New Zealand shirt are with him as he stands inside the airport terminal.
Missing and wanting him close, knowing inside that
my arms will never again feel themselves wrapped around him.
Having to deal with the loss of a love that I went into
innocently and lost within a harsh moment on someone else's clock.

Thought of Him Today

Thought of him today as I sat on the toilet
inside a casino in Connecticut.
In my thoughts I heard the way my name was whispered
in that special hoarse voice,
the letters all dipped into my conscience once more.
For some seconds I was on his lap again, nestling him
with the comfort of my arms and body
while delighting in our love.
Loudly, from the last stall in the room,
the flush of another
distant ivory throne awoke me from my daydream
and I sat there
with nothing more than the water that
stared back at me from
beneath my bare buns in the still cold seat.

The Years

Dry spring air shifts all around
this long afternoon
She sits in the shaded backyard
of her oldest child's home,
with a soft blanket covering her blue viened, thin legs
The years have cascaded by, taken with them
the once abundantly youthful ways of her skin
The once glowing flesh now sags
She is weathered by
decades of life;
creases and wrinkles
Her flesh is now as shriveled as those
oak leaves which fall gracefully to the grass
Her once cascading hair is short grayish curls
The hands are bony and shake
She still remembers when
men craved her curves,
gave long caresses across plump breasts
and spent time wanting a kiss
The memories of lovers
of forbidden desires
or unsatisfied wants
flitter in her now semi-dormant thoughts
Occasionally she'll reminisce
and for a moment, she is once more
that fluttering young butterfly
even if only in her mind

So Many Times

How often do I think of you?
Whenever a sweet drop of rain
falls upon my opened lips
It makes me wonder of all
the kisses we won't share
Whenever the golden ray of sun
touches this heated skin
I think of your large hands
upon my upturned face
Whenever a moment passes
and you're still far away,
I can not promise
that my thoughts will not
be with you.

Sleep Eludes Me Tonight

No amount of warm milk can soothe this soul.
I lost someone precious this evening, to the fears
and sadness of life and the prickly coldness of pain.
Perhaps this battle was won long before when loose lips
said I love you before the other heart felt that emotion.

Where does the heart go from here?
How do I lay my head down when my mind is still weeping?
Wishing and cuddling the cotton pillow, remembering him
the last night we were together.

Daydreaming here, I listen to the crickets as they seek a mate,
in the flowering bushes under my window.
Feeling envy that at least Mother Nature continues.
A bit hurt that the evening is not mourning alongside with me.

I promise to never dream again.
No illusions shall cross these green eyes.
I'll not be a butterfly with nothing but the breeze beneath me.
But rather an unpolished, mossy stone to tempt someone's
desire to pick me up and throw me into the pond of love again.


His heavenly voice tingles into the curve of my ear
Each honeyed word is my blessed temptation
every sound crawling through these steaming phone lines
making me moist for things I had only dreamed of before

Wanting to savor as one does a tasty morsel upon the palette
Make me purr with tempting hands and sugared words,
the weaving curl of burning lust draws me forth
No other eyes shall see you, no other heart will beat for you

Somewhere I know a Mother's prayer is being sent
to whichever left over Saint will try to save this fallen soul
But at the moment, I care not of the words promising forgiveness
when these wicked sins claw at me with an aching need

Forgive me heavenly Father, for I have cared and given into the will of desire
Used Your name in unholy ways when heated passion crested over me
Shall I bathe in holy waters to see if those moments will be forgotten?
How many Hail Marys are allowed to erase the taint of carnal love from within?


Searching for my lost soul,
I found endless desire.
Wanting completion with another,
I dreamt of breathless fulfillment.
Hungry for personal happiness,
I ached for you before knowing your face.
Then fate was kind and destiny smiled upon me
when it showed me your awaiting heart
and placed you in the path of my life.


Have tried to live life
without regrets
Cannot change the past
No matter how many apologies are made
Yet the lingering taste of loss
And the salty sorrow of "what ifs" once in a while
Take haunting walks in my soul
How I wish last August could be rewound
So I'd at least know
the flavor of his kiss

Question of Us

On a lonely Monday morning, I ask you

...what shall you eventually
be in this continuous drama known as my life?

If considered in a textual format

...will our time perhaps cover a single page or worse -
a simple, incomplete paragraph, perchance?

...or maybe this thing between us fills an entire chapter
which will bear dog-eared corners to remind me
of memorable times, good and turbulent.

Paper Heart

I am translucent and delicate,
so easy to crush with the softest lie
What think you of me?
A fool?

A lost soul?
A love?

A friend?
As I stare into your elusive eyes and beg to see forever
To wear your heart as my shelter and protection
from whichever harsh storms life will throw us
Hold this paper heart, hide it from the darkness
Allow my tender soul to be your haven
and you shall never be alone again


His gravely voice today
was more beautiful than ever,
even though it sounded so very, very tired.
Wishing I could crawl within the telephone line
to lay his graying head upon my comforting lap.
To whisper into his ear
tender words my heart holds.
But even though he is miles from me
I don't need to hold him
to love him
for he is never farther
from me than my own

Blue Nails

The evening continues
as we verbally relive each
year that has somehow run past us.
High school has long gone the way of the dodo bird
yet smiles arise when
moments of silly happiness are remembered.
The tangy scent of your blue nail polish
as it dries
on my toenails lingers in the air
much like our memories do.
Perhaps in the eyes of many we are ancient dolls
Still single, shelved and in dire need of dusting off
Awaiting to be put to some better use.
In these hours and days of happiness,
we are once more just two old friends
with no worries to the world.
And for that I give thanks
to any and all spirits for having
placed you in my path of life.

for Angela 1972 - 2005
Best Friends Forever

July 20, 2011

Of Two Grandfathers

My Grandfather was a wonderful man
Don't ask what university he went to
for he did not even attend High School
His life was one of hard labor,
feeding and raising nine children
with crafted carpenter hands and a backbone made of steel

My Grandfather is an inspirational man
Because his feet set down his feet in a distant land
to fight in a foreign war crossed the line, survived
He raised his three children in the boroughs of New York
and taught them values of respect and strong morals

My Grandfathers were both men of dignity
They led imperfect lives with many mistakes
Perhaps filled with more regrets than I can begin to imagine
And now when I can understand better the complexities of mankind
I wish I'd spent been able to more time with both of them

Rest In Peace


Morning arrives,
the still freshly scented sheets are tangled,
wrapping me in a 300 count cocoon
Bones and sore muscles stretch
as I reach over to your side of the bed
Empty and alone
Cold and rumpled
Yet your scent lingers on there
Opening one eye, I peer over and seek
where the pillow still holds the form of you
beside me.
Tingling all over as I remember what we shared
-- the spots where sharp teeth left a mark on me
-- the flavor of musk cologne upon my bottom lip
-- the feel of thick fingers where they clutched my head
Memories are splatters of warmed molasses that slowly ooze
around in my mind to burn these senses once more.

Let Death Find Me

Sometimes when I've got nothing better to do,
I send a wish that Death will catch me
when I can't see it coming.
Let it float between the gentle curtains of my bedroom
as I lay with my lover,
my mind adrift within Picasso dreams
that never fit into the quietness and stability of my real life.
As these eyes are clasped shut
to not watch as the cold hand reaches between us,
that gentle caress to steal my next breath away.
To a place and time where my memories and my past
will mean nothing.
Where my hopes and dreams can never grow into possibilities.
All I hope is to never look up and see that shrouded one smiling down,
with its ruthless, unfeeling eyes and frozen hand held out.
For then I will, for a second,
come to regret all the things I never did and then won't be able to

I Wish I Could Somehow Hate You

Within the darkness of my empty, quiet room
how I wish I could somehow hate you
then this would be so much easier.
Convince this destroyed heart that I never loved you.
Erase the lies when I said you never made me cry.
Don't know when it turned so bad for you
that you couldn't bear to live another day.

You dared to think of taking your life.
Words so vile slithered off your palette.
To whisper it to me over the phone lines.
I sat there, wanting to tear the very thought
from your mind, stomp on it until it was nothing
more but a ugly stain beneath my shoes.
A day shall arrive when I shall continue without you
if need be and that's my biggest fear.
Don't leave me before you should, just because
the world bears down on you.
I pray to any heavenly help.
Causing me beg. Plead. To make you stay.
How dare you break your promise that our future daughters
would be best friends, as we are?
I still wish I could hate you for
then I wouldn't dream of us eating Chinese wonton soup
under the large shadow of an oak tree
when moments like this did not exist.

Hurting... Still

Amor vincit omnia
How we wish to believe that love conquers all
That's the beauty of the tale
But the truth is I still slip within wintery blankets each night
Without the warmth of a lover besides because life is..
Odd that way
There is no happy ending, fifteen minutes into the end
Sometimes he drives off and the car doesn't spin around with his
apologetic promises and remorse afterwards
I've been left by lovers
I've left lovers, as well
Tossed them aside easily as Autumn leaves


Once upon a time...
when I still wore ponytails
and Sunday dresses
I believed in fairytales
and happily ever after.
When every story would have
the ever present handsome Prince
charging in with nothing less
than everlasting love.
And it was all sealed with a blessed kiss.
Though the years the hairstyle changed
Childish clothes and girlish dreams
were put away forever.
That Prince became a real man
with flaws and problems,
who could not always rescue me using
magical enchantment or
by killing the dragon.
He came with his own personal demons
and some holes in those old work socks.
A beautiful crooked smile and
sad hazel eyes that
seemed to have seen a lot in this lifetime.
Yes, he was handsome and sweet, made me laugh,
and understood me.
So with all these faults and all the headaches
that come with romance and life,
this man -- who was not born a ruler of any kingdom;
never seen a green scaled monster;
nor ever fought for my life;
entered this heart with only the magic of love.
Yet no Mother Goose edited this tale
and so it does not conclude in any happy ending.
The one who stole this heart, eventually also broke it
without so much as a second look back or a shed tear.
And yet, I continue to believe
in eternal love and magical kisses
to awaken this awaiting heart once more.


The rain reminds me of him,
its touch caresses my upturned face
That gentle coolness crawling
upon my expectant mouth as
those lips have when he would bend over to kiss them.
The night surrounds me as he once did,
in the same soothing tender quiet way when
he'd cover me with a warm, musky body while the
sensation of those firm arms cloaked me in peace
The wind is a constant part of him
with the cool touch upon pale cheeks as his fingers would,
then traveling beneath my loose clothes
and feeling what others could only dream of

Does He Know?

Does he know of the way this delicate heart

aches, beats, cries,

with the mere words exchanged?
Does he understand what he holds within those
large hands nothing less than a poor soul,

wary and scared?

How can this be?
This man does not seem to comprehend all that he means,
all that is there.

Does he believe as does she? Only one can tell
Does he hope as does she? Only time can tell
Does he dream as does she? Only he can tell

Dedicacion a mi Madre

Her brightly colored nails hold the knife
and aid in slicing the sweet plantain into thin pieces
The gray hairs glimmer and frame her face
It'll be a few more days before she breaks out the Miss Clariol
to help disguise them.

Scents of arroz con pollo float around the kitchen
This is her domain
Within their modest townhouse

She learned how to multitask while raising three children
How to cure booboos, scold bad moments but mostly
her life lessons where showing love while sacrificing mental tranquility
and teaching things seldom learned elsewhere

There are scars within and throughout her body, from private battles:
A hysterectomy, another a shoulder injury and others too many to name
And an illness, which threatens her very life
"No le tengo miedo a la muerte", she proclaims
And though she does not fear death, I fear losing her
No matter how many times she makes me grit my teeth
When talking about things I should and shouldn't do

Yet at this moment, her peace is found in cooking her food
Worries will come later
Fears will be contained
Problems don't exist
For now there are the sounds and smells of life continuing
From within their modest townhouse

Cotton Daydreams

Last night I tried to sleep
upon the soft sheets we had shared
Recently washed,
no longer bearing the scent of your cologne
So I lied to myself
Held my misshaped pillow as I held you once
- tightly cocooned
beneath the curve
of my neck
Closed my sad eyes fiercely enough,
daydreamed with all my might,
to feel of your warm breath
tickle my goose bumped flesh
But for now a lone tear escapes
to become absorbed by my cotton excuse of you

Blue Nails

The evening continues
as we verbally relive each
year that has somehow run past us.
High school has long gone the way of the dodo bird
yet smiles arise when
moments of silly happiness are remembered.
The tangy scent of your blue nail polish
as it dries
on my toenails lingers in the air
much like our memories do.
Perhaps in the eyes of many we are ancient dolls
Still single, shelved and in dire need of dusting off
Awaiting to be put to some better use.
In these hours and days of happiness,
we are once more just two old friends
with no worries to the world.
And for that I give thanks
to any and all spirits for having
placed you in my path of life.

for Angela 1972 - 2005
Best Friends Forever

Blood of My Blood

Standing in the darkened doorway,
my brother does not sense my stare.
Where has the little boy with the mischievous smile gone?
When did his loss of innocence take place?
Upon his shoulder, I see the tattoo bearing his name
And it makes me wonder what burdens are carried there?
Do his dreams consist of private demons and blame?
Does he sometimes wonder as to what he has become?
I shall love him forever for he is my sibling but
sometimes I don’t like this blood of my blood.
Angering me enough to want to scold him
as I did once, a long time ago.
But instead I stand in the shadows...
Recalling the little boy I once knew
and praying for the man he has become.

At the wheel at 4:31am

The road is slightly wet, so early this morning
The sounds of rubber tires eating up asphalt is soothing
My skin feels prickly from lack of sleep today
A million dancing millipede tickle along this shell of my body
I crave my bed and three lumpy pillows more than any lover


Again I dreamt of you
as distance keeps our bodies apart
Somehow my soul cannot be without
these wicked, cherished thoughts
In these memories
once more I could hold you,
taste those elusive kisses
that were, sadly, far and in between
Perhaps all I'll ever have
are these carnal memories to hold onto
until death presses down upon me
Nothing more shall I own
but the wishes of the past
to peek on when I am alone
as petty misers do to their well hidden treasures
of tarnished, weathered gold coins