sweet n sour

Last night I dreamt
you asked me to hold you
and I ardently tried my best
You lay so still as if fulfilled
had I but beenĀ someone else


reality flowchart


prompt – mixing media & poetry

skin like silk?


Who has ever written,
or cared to read,
of the desire to touch skin
so dry and thin,
as the finest silk always is,
it snags on your fingertips
and bunches up
as you caress it,
threatening to tear
and unveil
the fragile frame
over which it drapes?

(perhaps comedians and cynics or some senseless romantic hovering over a death bed)

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I’m going to write of what will be
When one and one will equal three
And you’ll be hanging on the line
Between what’s true and what’s denied

You’ll blankly stare at pictures made
Of choices forced to cover shame
In smoke filled rooms of solitude
You’ll long for oneness made of two

You’ll gather dreams into a pyre
And seek a match to light the fire
You’ll find me with my hand stretched out
Each match you light I will snuff out

A thousand times over if need be
Until the day you come to me
Without want, or need or goal
To sit beside the truth I hold

newborn prayer

soil is most fertile when
seeped in sacrifice
and tilled with guilt

and what has all this
to do with you
newest girl
what do you care
that daddy’s lust was for another
if it made your mama ripe
while she lay in wait

what does it matter
if neither was ready nor willing
or that winter is long
you’ll radiate enough warmth
to get them through

who cares what goes on
under frozen ground
as long as the tendrils
with which they yoke each other
find that soil
that won’t wash away
when the spring rains come


I stripped off the last illusion
Dragged my doubts into the light
Seeking sense in clarity
To keep me warm at night
But the winter sun is coldly glaring
With its shadows no less dark
And all that’s lit up clearly is
That spot where you are not

biding time

If the portrait is lit just right
perhaps desire will diffuse
into a gentler smile
that can go the miles it takes
to get far enough ahead
to break rank and run
Though they will
shoot you in the back
you may be afforded a few seconds
where your smile is not forced

unrequited gift

I was chosen as your Cassandra
though the purpose escapes me.
I foretold every word you would speak.
What you would and would not do.
And what would come to be.
I can prove it if you’ll only look.
I wrote it on every wall,
I drew it on every scrap,
though mostly to test my strength
(I found I had none).
I couldn’t even get you to try
to decipher my cryptic messages
kindly left open to interpretation.
I could have been more direct
but you wouldn’t have believed me.
You’d only have rushed in sooner
to prove me wrong,
saving me time and caring
without changing a thing

I was only pulled in
to push the wheels along
until I could find the strength
to step aside.

For you,
I have foreseen many more
horrors and troubles ahead
and some victories too.
But I won’t play part any more
(because secretly I fear
I may have conjured it all
with words).
All I wish is you would have seen me
long enough to ask.

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