Poetry

It’s been a long timeSince I crawled inside your mindGot a blanket from the memory closetCurled up on the bed of your joyDrank the wine of your poetryAnd fell asleep safe and warm and loved.

A firm mattressWith crisp white sheetsSharply tucked inAnd feather pillowsGoose down comforterCotton duvetFresh.Clean.Pure. Beggingto be unmadeRuffled,Then thrown,Rolled, crushed.Maybe ripped.Discarded.For the passionOf the momentForgotten.

There’s nothing you could saythat would drive me away.There’s nothing you could doto keep me from loving you.There’s nothing you could giveto get more of my love.There’s nothing you could findto change how I spend my life. I’m yours.

If you were in my bed,I’d whisper “Honey, are you awake?”With a slight little squeezeJust enough to seizeYou from slumber to hearMy thoughts on days ahead. If you were in my bed,I’d slide my arm inside your embraceGently hold your bodyPut my face near your faceIn hopes of waking my sleepyhead. If you were in…

I am an only childA single motherA sole proprietor I’m very generousAnd I give things away all the time. You make me want to share.

ShareI want to spend my daysThinking of what I haveThat I can give to youAnd then give more. CompromiseI want to give inAnd not dig in to get my wayAnd then give more. SacrificeI want to lose somethingAnd have you gainBecause it’s better this wayAnd then give more.

I’d journey to the rainforest to find a medicinal barkCapture animals you needed to save and build you Noah’s arkCollect the balm from Gilead to heal your sinsick soulGive you all your missing pieces to make you whole. Tell me what you want and I promise that it’s yoursOnce I know what ails you, I…

I’m no good at Tantric anything. In fact purgatory is my version of hell. I can’t stand waiting for your divorce, waiting for you to call, waiting to be able to love you. And yet I know that I’m a fire hose. That my ambush attack would drive you away if I were unbound, unleashed…

Purgatory is my hell.Waiting for joy or pain,Whichever comes, I remain,anticipation makes me unwell. I want to do and see and beNot become, transformReducing less, wanting moreI want to have just what I need. Evangeline waits, LongfellowBut I stand with a smileLike a child with hands open wideAwaiting the next promised marshmallow I can hear…

Jan 28 When I saw the smileOn the childOf the manI love,I discovered againthat I love him -Since I love his daughterLike I love my own. When you look into the eyesOf the childOf the man you loveIt’s like seeing all of the goodIn himIn another person.All of his joyHis laughterHis curiosityIn a person ready…