I thought I got to know you —
I never really did.

Just two drunks, life askew,
whose daylight psyches hid,
but understood each other then —
a clank of glass and promises,
a moonless night kept dark.

How different we now seem
in dawn’s encroaching sparks,
a love consigned to dreams,
a friend to sober heartaches.

An oldie from 2011. As the saying goes, I probably love the idea of you more than you. But to lose the idea of you is to lose you all the same…



One cup farewell for well-worn fantasies,
a cup as warm as your embrace,
and balanced was the mellow taste
of speckled chocolate, swirling cream,
reminiscent of your vanilla hair
and freckled face.

One cup farewell because that’s life,
as rising steams desist to ice
and bitterness mellowed further,
though lost as well for sleepless night
the soft, sweet notes of beans
delighted by two drinkers.

One cup now drank that earns no envy,
as one farewell was ever one too many.

While with an obvious in mind, the sentiment does generalize. To understand, to know, does not make any easier the thought of letting go. When will I accept?

Poet’s Block

I want the words kowtowed
as though I am their master,
to wait upon my wanderings,
from pensive thoughts
to manic musings.

I want the words at bay,
whether morn’ or 4 P.M.,
a team of doctors forever
on the call to diagnose
the latest mental stage.

But they arrive
like reveling butterflies
of Spring —

And just as quickly
flutter off to dancing leaves
of Fall —

If I can’t write tonight, then I can at least complain about the writing process. A lighter piece amidst all the heavier reflections of life changes in the past couple months.

Cheek Kiss

You left with lips a legacy,
caressed so gently as moonlight
meets the eyes, as liberating
as shared nights confiding
underneath the river bridge.

You left with lips a memory,
so deeply seared and pleasant
bittersweet, desires to repeat
passing days and yearning sighs,
to once again embrace.

But consigned we shall to fantasies
these alter-endings of our fate —
May dream-selves have in real
what our reality tells us fake.

For T.M.

There is a sweetness at the end of doors, when certain chapters truly close. The peace of endings may not be the same as happiness, but the pleasant calmness suffices all the same. Onward we shall go unto that future. Uncertain as it may be, we stride forth accompanied.

Rains of Spring

Thoughts return to you with love
as rain would herald coming summer nights

A love that wounds and rouses
A love that fights indifferent Fate

Fated are we then to disperse?
Scattered pine spores at the whims of wind

And even thoughts and memories too
Evaporate for sunlight atop leaves of grass

How I’ve always love the rains of spring
Just a bit more now that you’re gone.

Stormy, sleepless night. I am delighted for the gifts of thunderstorms and just as sad in the moment all the same. It’s weird, this loneliness I feel. To have spent a day in company of friends and family and yet retire to bed feeling lonely, all the same…