behind her elegance
wrapped up in a stranger's imagination
she becomes the perfect lover
a daydream of
scattered illusions and
endless possibilities;
we blend our loneliness into preferences
feeling the warmth across
the distances of attraction,
a neutral barrier lying naked;
we share disbelief
a desperate agreement to behold
like a captive audience
is our fate... we bring our purposes
together expressing pains and sorrows.
Surviving
tears roll from her eyes
down her cheeks,
past the corners of
her mouth where they
collect until their weight
pulls them into oblivion;
healed by the years of endured patience,
she wears indications of survival
proudly and visible,
continuing to manage,
to make do,
to accept... by the fire,
alone with her memories,
a scrapbook of her life remains
open to an empty house,
save herself;
her eyes dry slowly by
the heat of the fire as she
waits for his return someday.
the winter sets in motion
our restlessness...
papers tell of discontented
liabilities...
thoughts lie in our genuine
hand-painted collection
of stoneware...
and the box of Russel Stover
becomes our surrogate lover.
Tangled Memories
tangled memories twisted
around my consciousness,
pinched by reality
sleep as strangers talk;
we share as strangers,
looking into each other's
eyes for the first time;
as strangers smile,
we remember our situation,
crying as close friends
upon weak shoulders.
Wanting
the lady wants what
I want... but,
not with me... and,
the lucky man who
takes her granted,
only takes a portion
of her passion... and,
the rest belongs to me
through the excitement
of our monthly affairs.
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