There's been magic in the air...

Sunshine inspires me.
A couple new pieces...and I have a feeling there's a lot more to come.


Waiting Is
Did we ever touch
with meaning--
do you know what I meant:
when my fingers brushed your cheek;
when my hair spilled
like dark sunshine
over your shoulder;
when I pressed against you,
trying to push through
the barriers of clothing and
flesh--
did you hear my unspoken intent?
And my eyes are hungry
for the sight of you,
denied
like something addictive and
wrong--
still I want, still I long, still I yearn,
and never learn.
I know that you lied
with every soft breath.
It doesn't matter.
My foolish heart insisted
that I could save you, change you,
show you
that there was something real
outside of yourself.
And maybe you listened,
maybe you learned, maybe believed.
Only time will tell.
5.14.08

[fin.]
I'm fed up with your "facts."
You sped up your act to keep pace
with my racing heart, but your
pretty face,
your gorgeous green eyes and
transparent lies that can't disguise
truth
won't carry you through,
won't pave your way any longer--
so ponder, as you're craving
the warmth of my arms and my hands,
that I could have saved you,
I could have made you
a god;
consider how I braved hell and high water
to bathe in mere moments of your
worthless presence,
your beautiful pretense.
I know I'm not her--
not the girl of your dreams, that
fantasy lover-nymph-goddess.
I never meant to be.
But think on this, as you're missing
my lips and the feel of my hips
and all those small pieces of bliss:
I'm much better than nothing.
5.16.08

Meat Market
For sale--sold
by the glitter of gold,
by fever bright eyes
and the wet sheen of sweat,
gyrating hints of possibilities,
lewd glints of empty nothings--
just wasting time with a taste
of what could be, what should be,
but isn't.
Is that beating drum your heart,
are you stomping out
the rhythm of life?
Are you giving in to the animal within?
Sacrificing humanity like a sacred lamb
for the sake of primal fires,
hedonistic desires for the texture of
flesh against your
lips, in your teeth, such
shapely hips, suggesting
what goes on between her thighs.
Are we so blinded
by the dim lights and tidal waves of sound
that we don't care about the soul
beneath that succulent enclosure of
supple skin, so willing to give in
to urgent demands, older than
rational thought
and the ability to rise above ourselves
and the moment?

[yes.]
5.17.08