Winter

Addiction

Kiss me until it’s cliché and

I’ll tell you I hate you. Drugs

will kill me. Too bad I’m addicted.

You are the lemon in my tea.

Squeeze into my wounds.

The sting makes me love you more.

Our warmth chills me to the bone.

A yarn sweater unraveling

as you pull mine off in the

backseat of your car,

idling in my empty driveway

when I get home.

This end is a beginning

for better and for worse.

Lover, I cannot stand you.

I will run from this bi-polar

love affair. Run into your arms.

Give me a kiss. Push me away.

Even the unending waves must

come and go with the tide,

pulsing steam on frozen windows.

To The Once Ingénue

The giver of blood and love is fragile

as it beats faint within the fold of your

broken breast. The giant’s grass of the forest

sways gently in the wind, unaware of your

selfish weight crushing the earth below.

You used to dance with grace as light as a breeze

among the blossoms of spring, but now you

have been stripped and knocked down, lying

heavy in the cold dirt of disenchanted

winter. You bury yourself in the decay of your

innocence as the rain of remorse now pours down

your cheeks. The one who did this to you feels no

regret. You let him take the silver trinkets

from your pain-streaked body and he

hung them from the bedpost that he might

admire those trophies of his conquest.

You have given up that blissful ignorance that you

once held so dear. Now you must stand alone and

face the world, for he is not there to lift you.

There is no changing what has been done.

Track 1

A little conversation is all it takes on

                    the beach at day break. Kiss me gently

                                   as quiet notes waft across the sand

                         out of the open door of your car idling

                                             in the background. The only sound is

                                        you and me and the pristine waves as

                                                            your lips sear your name on my

                                                  tongue and the soft guitar serenades

                                 the silence. Hold me closer, feel me warm

                    against you. The water is beautiful.

The Boy That Never Was

There’s a candle in my window for

the boy who never was.

It flickers just as brightly as

the laughter in his eyes. The warmth

inside his heart is matched by nothing

but the flame, and the tiny drips

of melted wax, intricate as his mind.

The candle burns to mourn this boy,

the one I could have loved.

He may have lived - this boy, indeed.

But mine he never was.

Sin (Part Two of To Save A Wretch Like Me)

The second part of the collection, To Save A Wretch Like Me, continues the story of the two lovers once the honeymoon phase has ended. Trust is lost, hurt is gained, and as the lovers turn on each other the path that was once so tempting turns sharply into a dead end.

Some never learn.

Christmas eve past found the family on powdered hills,

toboggans dragged behind by stiff fingers.

I was the brave one, the first on my sled. The one who

never held the rope, even when my parents scolded,

told me it’s better to be safe than sorry.

I thought they were silly until I took a tumble,

my face slammed by the packed snow that had

seemed so soft just a moment ago.

I wish I knew how to listen.

One Speck Spoils the Glass

Awake in a photo. Black and white, head hurts too much for color. Loose black slacks drape over a barely there dress on the floor. Milk on the nightstand in front of a background of wood. My hands rest on my stomach. Is milk on my skin? Man’s milk, perhaps. I want milk. What did I do last night? Rolling over, see what I did. He has a stressed smile, spindly at the ends, emblazoned with a promise. Don’t think I want what he’s offering. A sour taste coats my mouth. Turn over, drink the milk. If only the creamy froth could make my insides in its image. The word “milk” crowns everything. I too would like to be pure white.

The Details

Church buildings and dropped bibles and water fountains, small talk about Jesus and Kit-Kats and you stuttered over each simple word. Such a rush, between joking and fear and excitement and fear. Knots in your stomach, hope to Heaven that things happen, terrified that they won’t. Fear you can’t help but be happy in spite of, because of. You wind up on a couch with a warm arm encircling you stiff as a board because you’re so afraid of messing up you can barely dare to breathe because oh God he’s touching you and it’s just so unbelievable but then suddenly, you relax, because it feels right. Perhaps that was when I loved you, your leg against mine, sock soft against bare toes. Shared secret under the table, innocent.