You are beautiful.
I see you in my mind when I can’t touch you,
I ache at the thought of your hands,
Your shoulders,
I am lost in thoughts when I shouldn’t be,
The curve,
The swell of your behind,
I am lost,
The wetness of your mouth,
I am breathless,
The thick firmness of your thighs,
I am captivated by an image I can’t touch,
Wanting so much to feel, taste, kiss the things I see,
But alas,
Were it not just a memory.
Category: Poetry
For Me
He played a song
For me,
A song he said was mine,
Written surely
For me,
He confessed,
And I saw in his eyes a tenderness,
I had not seen before,
That read of love, and hurt,
and fear,
That said he had before wept tears,
And that those had been for me,
Over me too.
All is Quiet
All is quiet,
But for the murmured talk of individuals
In room corners,
All is quiet but for the in and out,
Draw of breath from the silent,
All is quiet but the sound of minds in thought,
A shift of body makes a shuffle of cloth,
And all is quiet but for the noise,
The noise that seems to get louder the more one listens to the quiet.
Radical Love (…for the internet)
Today I did a presentation
On radical love,
“A love so extreme it erases boundaries”,
Perhaps that’s what this has always been,
Because the boundaries between us are but marks on a map,
And the oceans flow into one another,
The landmasses are our sailboats,
These are not boundaries dividing us,
And even if there were we’d find a way
To connect,
Thank the stars for the internet
One Last Heartbeat
Cultural heroes pass in untimely death,
And suddenly how close mortality seems to us all,
A stark reminder that mortality is always a heartbeat away,
And despite this knowledge
Only with loss do we bend to knees and pray,
Not for miraculous everlasting life,
But for enough time while it’s ours,
To do all that is needed to be done,
To make right our actions
To let loved ones know
In word and deed that they are loved
and of their value to our personal existence,
And this all takes time,
Takes heartbeats,
-Thump-
There goes another beat,
Now is always the time,
To do what you would,
If you had just one last
Heartbeat.
Dust and Shrapnel
And then it’s gone,
The brilliance we held on to
As if it would last forever,
It’s gone,
Not as a fading
But a brilliant explosion that measures up to the luminescence of its blindingly bright short life,
Gone,
Leaving only the dust of what could have been,
And shrapnel of memory.
She of Letters 