Passing By

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.

Warm Body

Time can never erase the taste, the touch,

the heat of smooth, soft skin. My fingertips

ached to pull him closer. Hands felt my hips,

urging me onward, still forward. So much

depends upon simple contact, and such

sweet, plum caresses from succulent lips.

But this is not quite right. Fantasy rips

and he is not my warmth, the one I clutch.

Not lover, friend, my partner strong and bold,

who brings me to my sweetest, perfect form.

He is a stranger, a poor substitution,

an improper plaster cast, hard and cold.

He could never mold to your humor or charm.

You are gone, he is just an illusion.

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.

Cold Shoulder

Sugared words drip from

sultry lips, making his threshold

glow with the red heat of

inner fire as he opens the door

to the jasmine scent in the evening chill.

She is the one from before.

May I come in?

He thinks it’s better she didn’t.

Jezebel in a cashmere sweater

pouts. I thought you left her.

The fire winks out.

Sweetie

Love, your friend:

Sweetie, the roses are all dying now,

They’ve withered and faded beyond repair.

And though you water them I can see how

They still have gone, despite your watchful stare.

Sweetie, the roses have all bowed their heads,

A sign of goodbye in this cold, dark room.

The stems have gone black and their bodies shed

Their petals and leaves far into the gloom.

Sweetie, sometimes I think you are a rose

He’s drying you up petal by petal.

I watch you lie down and as your eyes close,

I see your heart is now withered, brittle.

Sweetie, you know deep inside this is wrong.

Inside your heart is not where he belongs.

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.

Closure

Upon this wall I sit and watch the tide

roll in and out, affection for the sand

as indecisive as your touch. Your hand

grazes mine. Is it true we really tried?

Perhaps I missed it when you tried to hide.

Your touch lingers, and I feel it demand

a part of me that no longer can stand.

Was this love just far too long denied?

But there was something here, and it still is

alive somewhere inside our broken hearts.

This poem is far too sentimental,

And yet I feel somewhere, somehow that this

needs to be said, before we fall apart

and crash into the waves that we feel call.

Track 2

I said I never want to see you again

(with anyone but me). The jazz

from the record player challenges

you to leave. Your words break my

bones (but your kisses are a splint).

Believe me, I can live without you

(if I’m already dead). I swear I’ll

go on if you leave (everyone else

behind). Push and sway in time,

give away your heart (it’s mine).

Forgive and forget is so cliché.

I say never give away the past.

Pop the Trunk

My life fits in the trunk of a civic

as i slide down this highway

miles pass with minutes

the separation of past and present

a stark reminder of reality

of time space and missed

opportunities it seems that

plans fall through and who’s

to say what comes but may today

be the way to tomorrow

yesterday says hello to memory

and so it goes as we toast to the old

and bring in the new it’s

true i am scared of the future

and you can’t pretend that you don’t

feel the same we all have our

boxes inside our trunks

no one can comprehend but us

so i drive my civic and

take my life from point a to point b

trying to tell myself that somehow

i’ll see where i’m going.