Love Letter: From Him

I wish you were here,
as always,
and that we could dance
beneath this fantastic
orange sky…
Yes, that would be lovely.
Oh and you would spin the
stale heart inside my chest.
I wish I could rip it out
and just give it to you.

Calm sailing, tonight
my dear.
I owe you an apology.
The waters hold no hell
like you do.

How are you, sweet?
Halting the worrying,
I hope.
You are my angel girl,
don’t forget that.
Sent from a God
that maybe shouldn’t
exist,
but all the same,
neither should someone
as marvelous as you.

I’ll see you soon,
my darling girl.

With all my love and sanity,

-S

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How To Get Through Life

Take a piece of yarn,
blue, yellow, magenta,
you have a choice here.

Tie the yarn to the sun,
not once,

twice,

or three times,

but ten.

With each sunrise,
take one step toward the ocean.

And
as the sun sets,
take a step back
in the direction
from which you came.

Repeat every day.
Prepare yourself for
death.

A Sky of Purple and Orange

The sky
hovers above me,
soulless and
doleful,
hanging clouds
pregnant with rain.
Angry, they seem.
Might be that they
miss you, too.

My sky
shouldn’t
have to be so grey.
Were it a canvas,
I’d use watercolors
to paint it dazzling
purples,
oranges,
colors of love
or perhaps
lust.
And
floating in the corner
would be a
playful sun,
golden and kind−
a little warmth for
my spirit.

But,
my paints do
nothing
without you
to show them the way.

Just Us

Two souls
suspended
in time
carelessly weaving
in and out of
each others
simple
worlds.

Wishing
for a moment
we were together

Cant be.

If the days were
shorter,
I could bear it
but
my brain won’t
hold still,
hold still,
and
I don’t feel whole,
my soul stolen,
lingering somewhere
between
me and you.

Shouldn’t
we say
we love
each other?
Kiss the days
gone by
and
for fucks sake
kill our pride.

I wish,
I wish.

But that’s
not
our story.
We exist
to share
black nights
apart
and feel
the others
pulse
in the stars.

Say that
you love me
tonight.

My Death

Full red lips
come together
so sensuous
so delicate.
They come together
and a sticky blob of
pink hubba bubba
is molded into a
large
round
bubble.

Her eyes–
eyes that steal
little, broken
pieces of my soul
with each passing
glance
meet my own,
sick gaze
my heart stops
a fire rises from my toes.
Closer and closer
it crawls
to my very core that
makes me human.

My girl, wicked child.
It’s all fun to her.
She doesn’t know,
she’ll never know how
she tortures me.
I feel my own death
creeping toward me
each time she shows
affection
in her twisted game of
catch and release.

My girl…

Oh how I want to indulge
in the sweet sweat of sin.
The way her lips
brushed against my own
haunts me like the ghost
of a damned soul.
The way she laced her fingers
between mine,
wearing her heart on her kiss.
My cheek pressed against hers,
rejecting the idea of
what should be.

Oh, if I could just die now.

Fill Me

Fill me up,
like you would
a porcelain cup
with green tea.

And should that cup,
hot with steam,
manage to bore you
hand the silly thing away

or  hold,
hold the hot mess
between hands
so delicate

and let it warm
the hole in
your half broken heart

wouldn’t that be nice?

So, cherie,
fill me with the
rose petals
that drip from your lips

fill me
with the songs
delightfully wandering
through your world

the mad should nots
and should haves
making you sick
with regret.

I will not break,
or spill,
or make your tongue sore
with burns,

but will spread
my heart over yours,
melt your shyness
with bare hands.

Fill my cup.

The Door

“Darling, that door,
where does it go?”

She smiled a wide smile,

teeth sparkling like the

champagne she sipped.

 

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”

She worked the key

into the lock

and turned it with great

hesitance.

Had my heart stopped then,

I could not be sure.

It mystified me to no end.

 

Great, modest game of life,

you have your way of calling

to your dancers.

So as I walked through that door,

I soared.

 

Second Love Affair

A lamplit street corner

calls my name

and so

with coat over left shoulder

and right hand in pocket

I stumble through the city.

 

Oh, Paris, mon amour!

Though not quite as lovely

as the wife who

tonight

I shared a foxtrot,

she holds herself with

a style and rhythm

unmatched by any.

A simple two step

holds my heart

with this one.

 

Together,

we handsomely

send the thoughts

back and forth–

her hands, my shoes,

a swirl of twinkling lights,

dogs,

and should haves.

 

And oh how my Paris

has a mesmerizing touch.

Her rain gently, softly

kisses my skin

while her air

sends my body

into the throws of

ecstacy.

And my God!

Her horrible madness

inside and out

ignites flames

that open my heart.

 

I nod to the drunks,

who, like me,

stagger home

to wives

children

lovers

boyfriends

and then

wake up again

to the gin

as the city goes to sleep.

Dancing their days away,

beautiful fools.

 

And yet,

it’s hard to exist

in madness

let alone have a thought.

The gin thinks for me

while it makes its way through

my  body,

so smoothly it travels.

 

“Horrible weather we’ve had,

have you noticed?”

I say to a small woman,

sopping wet with dark chocolate eyes.

“Coat?”

I wave the jacket, shaking the drops

from the silk.

 

“Merci.”