Gas Prices Skyrocket

We-dentity Crisis

You don’t think I love you enough? How the hell

can I love you when I hardly know how to love

me? Who even am I? Why am I asking you,

if you bothered to know you wouldn’t tell me

to love you more when you know I love you

more than anything. Oh, but I guess that’s not

enough for the man who takes everything except

a chance to put someone else first.

Track 5

Hard rock as            the door lock slides

   slowly into place, drowning out the

memory of your               face before you

         stepped over the threshold. The

timing was wrong              but I had hoped we

    would fight to save what wasn’t yet

broken. Now           headless dolls stumbling

  aimlessly across the toy box are what

we have become.            Too far even to run

 back into ear shot. Turn the music up.

Benefits of a breakup

1. Poetic inspiration

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Before our first date you bought me white lilies. I guessed you didn’t know the symbolism. But as the two of us become one for the who-knows-what time – you, deep inside me and I, clenched tight around you – I wonder if you did. Sometimes I feel as if we have become dead together. Your burning skin pressed against me, answering my need, no longer smells like cinnamon, only sweat. As your lips caress my collarbone, my breast, my navel you no longer taste strawberry, only salt. This four-story apartment building, box-shaped and bland, no longer is a stepping stone to a better life, but just another reminder of how our plans fell through. I remember the lilies as your hands squeeze my aching flesh, too warm for a corpse. The sun rises and the birds chirp and I convince myself that we are not yet dead. Even if that sun has long faded our yellow curtains. Even if we hardly speak. Even if you no longer call me liebe, though  we still make love. Even if your touch is the only thing I’m still living for.

Que Sera, Sera

The vanilla-cinnamon scent of your sweat lingers

as your lips taste the salty-sweet strawberry of my thighs,

pale pink against the dark upholstery of your car.

The shadow of the church steeple looms outside,

casting fiery judgment as your hot breath finds the place

it is needed most. Gasps drown out the crickets chirping

in the warm spring night among the dandelions and

wildflowers. We are lost together, happy to wander

hand in hand. You catch my breath and I lose your mind.

Intertwined and indistinguishable, finding our way

through unfamiliar territory. Skin against

skin, heart to heart, I grasp you tight.

You take me there.

Sin (Part Two of To Save A Wretch Like Me)

The second part of the collection, To Save A Wretch Like Me, continues the story of the two lovers once the honeymoon phase has ended. Trust is lost, hurt is gained, and as the lovers turn on each other the path that was once so tempting turns sharply into a dead end.

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.

Handle With Care

An inevitable conclusion

looms just out of sight of

my weak and wondering

eyes. Either we will last

forever or we will burn,

crash to the ground in

ugly flames of sulfur and

shame. Goodbye, good

bye, hello, goodbye. No

more farewells I beg,

either stay or go. My heart

cannot handle one more

hello just to end in another

goodbye. If I let you go it

will surely break. Please,

stop these mistakes that I

am too fragile to take.

Autumn

This time of year the rain turns cold.

Amber leaves rustle, threatening to fall.

Before long everything smells of golden brown.

The leaves are most striking right before they die.

They dance in the wind, wild horses with no reins,

As vibrant as a painting from the hands of Van Gogh.

The plunge starts when the will to live minus gravity equals zero.

At last the drop. A gust of wind. Finally, ground.

Once again at rest. Beauty: their last request.

Give it back, the lost color, the lost time.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.

God, will the cycle ever end?

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.