SWEET SORROW
Linger in the doorway,
Negligee in disarray,
You
Against the door frame
Sweeping eyes at
Me
Lips on lips,
Sorrow parts
Us
~
Bottles
BOTTLES
Why shape them so?
What is it fills them?
Who is she fills them?
Has she a lover?
Does he inspire?
Does she have his faithfulness?
Is it for him she fills the bottles?
Is it for him she fills them full?
~
What Tangled Web
Breezes coddle feathers fly over ocean waves,
Psalms wrought her wings glide along old Polo’s route
‘Til tides not ebbed wrack the rocks at lighthouse gate
Comes her Knock
Knock
Knock
Still deludes, for yet yields not relentless night
A fool, has no deter comes seeking Ponce’s dream
And to snare, for selfish shadows eclipse her shine.
Shunned,
Black-turned moon returns her fear’s way home.
I Won’t Look
She forced her eyes away in subtle defiance. She wouldn’t be complicit in their malefactions — her possessions strewn across the floor, an inventory now ensuing, items deemed useless, dismissed as junk. What was left they twisted, cajoled, compressed and all done with no shortage of wild contortions, forced it fit into a few small boxes.
She could not cry for what she couldn’t see, but her stomach knew, for it was wrenched and knotted, a familiar plague of late for which she could find no remedy in a bottle or a can.