Breaking Modus Operandi
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.
More Posts from Laceandpaper and Others
Away from Home
What do you get when you
erase the chalkboard, sweep up
the dust, and clap out the erasers?
The board gets a fresh start
while what was chalk becomes
dust, separated and scattered,
lost and alone.
I want to be the board.
I feel like the chalk.
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.
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.
Track 3
Low beats pound deep beneath our
skin so close under wrinkled sheets.
Sweat as heat penetrates our bodies,
pressed against each other, gripping,
unrelenting. Keep the rhythm of what
you’re giving to me. Please. Release the
hate you make me feel. Least of all
I love you. Most of all I love you.
Shades of gray but I’m seeing red.
Your touch is more forgiving than any priest.
Addiction
Kiss me until it’s cliché and
I’ll tell you I hate you. Drugs
will kill me. Too bad I’m addicted.
You are the lemon in my tea.
Squeeze into my wounds.
The sting makes me love you more.
Our warmth chills me to the bone.
A yarn sweater unraveling
as you pull mine off in the
backseat of your car,
idling in my empty driveway
when I get home.
This end is a beginning
for better and for worse.
Lover, I cannot stand you.
I will run from this bi-polar
love affair. Run into your arms.
Give me a kiss. Push me away.
Even the unending waves must
come and go with the tide,
pulsing steam on frozen windows.
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.
Sunset Over Atlantic
The tan line on my ring finger has faded,
just another reminder of the time we’ve lost
since that day at the beach when my ring
washed away with the tide. We couldn’t afford
to replace it. Maybe I should have taken that as
a sign.
Deja Vu
I’ll make everything up to you, love.
Hands grasping hers, knee against the steering wheel.
The shadow of the steeple blankets them
through the windshield, crossing his heart.
He is Judas, throwing back the silver.
He is not who he was. Neither is she.
And yet they’ve been here before.
