Three things that occurred to me

 Three things that occurred to me before I lied

to the only person who ever mattered to me.

Before she sat there and just cried and cried;

before that part of my soul just shriveled and died.

before I wished there was any other place to be.

One: I threw it all away like yesterday's trash,

I am a fool as anyone else can obviously see.

Without a moment's hesitation, gone in a flash,

without a thought, spent considering if it was rash;

without a minute lost, I blind myself to being free.

Two; I spoke words that cannot be taken back,

as if she wasn't there, her expression- a plea.

Besides, I hadn't considered tactlessness a knack

besides, I just plowed in to hew and to hack

through her emotions, the ax to her heart, the tree.

Three: The truth hurts more than the words I chose to say

so I lie in order to spare the commentary.

Before, she can argue that there was another way,

before, her eyes can persuade me that I should stay,

before, I lose face, forget my place, to run, to flee.

Three things occurred to me before I tried

to stop hurting the only woman who ever loved me.

Before she got up to leave before my heart died.

Before hope went out like a flame denied,

because, with her, there is no other place I would

rather be.

Memories of Kate

I have these memories of Kate,
her brown hair falling tangled over her emerald eyes
her little fibs, her tiny white lies
which she'd immediately confess
as if I would hold them against her
her tight smile as I'd impress that all that
she had told me had to be true, another way
I had to say "Kate, I love you."

I have these memories of Kate,
her guilty face, petulantly defiant in the hall
her lips hot on mine as we kissed against the wall
standing on tiptoes, arms around my neck
her flimsy excuses breathed in the pauses
like retorts from a green lawyer quoting clauses
who was I to judge her as she continued to press
I'd say "Kate, I love you more, not less."

I have these memories of Kate,
her hands making love knots in my shirt
her whispers, sighs, trying to mask her hurt
would I forget my vow to keep my word
had she really doubted my intentions in what she'd heard?
Her breasts heaving as if she were fighting back sobs
my stomach quivering, my heart fearfully throbs
waiting for her eventual rejection of all of me
but then she says "Mike, I love you, silly."

I have these memories of Kate.
standing in my Deadpool tee shirt looking for her jeans
knowing I would trust her no matter where she'd been
her blushing amber, freckles on her cheeks
my desire for her right leaving me unable to speak
instead I'm falling on my knees holding up the ring
her laughter into tears as it dawns on her I'm proposing
she yells out yes as she takes the ring onto her finger
it's these memories of Kate that will always linger.

Freezing

 I got the chills
a fevere dream where no matter how warmly you dress
your arms and legs feel bitterly cold, so cold you can't sleep

I felt frozen.
I didn't think I had an temperature...

moments like this are when you realize that you
are never as prepared as you think you are
can't find a thermometer even though you know
she had one, can't find the blood pressure cuffs
even though you know you had two.

Fear creeps in,
So far I have escaped CoVid and the Flu
So far I have avoided the other clandestine
illnesses my kin and neighbors have had to survive
I prayed to the God I am not sure I believe in
anymore

I write of women I will never meet

 I write of women I will never meet, I sing to their beauty of so sweet. Without them there in my mind I am incomplete, I write of women I will never meet.

I dream of things locked inside my head. I cry for those I know are dead, their ghosts haunt my nights like memories I want to forget instead since I dream dreams locked inside my head.

Her skin is ebony or amber light, her touch is soft/hard in the still of the night, her hair is thick thin it is my delight, she's almost in focus yet still out of sight

Her voice trickles down into my ears
her songs is tempting lasting so many
years, she is the composite of all my fears
I long for her embrace and her tears.

I write of women I will never meet,
I compose rhymes that will lay at their
feet, Without them in my lines I am
devoid as a blank paper sheet, my ink
dried, tears cried for the women I will
never meet.

She, in my Mysterious Ways

 

I tell her that I love her
in all the mysterious ways
this is what I will do on mostly sunny days...
I will tell her she means the world to me, when the truth is that she means more than reality. 
I would tell her that she's a photograph I found on the internet, but I want to to feel that she is still there for me and that hasn't actually happened yet.

She tells me that I should find someone else because she isn't the one for me.
I will laugh at this because it is true and that then realize I don't want to be set free
She mentions meeting my mother and for the first time in a long time, I can safely say it can no longer happen- Mom's death no longer brings grief, which I have to say is sublime

It is sublime,
It is sublime,

I will tell her that I love her
in all my mysterious ways
She will laugh at me mostly on cloudy days

I will swear that there is no other place
I long to be. She will try to explain that it
is as much true for her as it is the same to me.
We're in my studio on yet another rainy day
I am trying to give her dimensions, whilst
she smiles coyly at me from the shadows of
my LCD display.

She mentions that I should call my brother
as if she understands that we talk now since
we both have lost our mother, I tell her I will call
him tomorrow or the next day, I just want to stay here
with her photograph as I think of words to put on
my first book cover.
She asks me what is it like to have a lover, as if I
had the time, time to find such a tangible insubstantial
relationship then that, too would be sublime

It would be sublime-
It would be sublime.

She is my Muse

 

She is my muse
never met her
always wanted to but never had the never to look
in the dark places, staying in the light wanting- wishing 
that she would magically, mystically appear as if
from my dreams into reality

She is my desire
unfounded in reality
my mannequin dreams like that movie with Kim Cattrall
coming to life at inopertune times to remind me that if
I could just get it right she could remain flesh and blood
and we would find love and happiness.

She is my mystery
the unwritten words
that I plan to write to capture the desire that lights my path
as I stumble forwards through ectasy searching for the rhymes
that haunt me in the pages on my LED Screen