Can we meet again?
You, wearing your black jacket;
Me, empty in mind or thought.
You ask what I want.
I want long hours of chatter.
Know you are happy,
even when I am not.
Can we meet again?
This time, both of us touch each other's souls, holding on and never letting go.
Should a heartbeat book an appointment?
A touch of soul, a set time?
Funny how milk tarts are sweet, but can't tweet.
I'll always call to say goodnight.
I hope your phone can keep voice notes.
One day, my words will matter.
It is not a fling, only that our hearts are still pink.
I’m a sentinel, fair Romeo
- scanning the liquid dark,
and ready to whisper alarm
at the first sign of romance.
I put my hands on the table after you..
I drink from your half-empty glass..
I sit in your still-warm chair.
I signal you but I am a candle at noon..
I call you but I am a snowflake at sea..
Please don't go anywhere without me..
I long to be your shadow.
I want to taste you like food..
A hundred emotions tangled like hair ..and trivial words..
Oracle please tell
me, (free of charge) about the
future that will be.
Show me the bright secrets
of love - be a mystic guide
for my bored heart’s relief.
What kisses may be played
on sweet, future nights with no
tentative whispers please.
Help me conquer the
confusing compresence of
desire and unease.
The conversation
takes an crushy turn - so my
brain starts making quips.
My experience is
that my amorous impulses
are unreliable.
With my friends, my flawed,
carnivalesque attempts
at romance are legend.
Unless I'm starved
for embarrassment's grief
which I seldom am.
I will dodge, slither,
obfuscate and stall attempts
at intimacy.
What if I’m the
Kind of girl that guys can’t
just fall in love with?
I dread those moments
when infatuation begins
to be commitment.
When a wanting to
be together turns into
an obligation.
whoa, I can’t be
“your” girl - I’m not looking
to belong to you.
What commands my heart
who knows? But it can't be
kept - pressed like a rose.
Is a girl b#tchy
if she won’t commit to
a relationship?
Ex lovebirds of
the tamest passion can turn
so predatory.
Passive aggressive
schoolboys who mock whistle at
ex-girlfriends for spite.
Who scatter book bag
contents in mock accidents
for supposed revenge.
As witchcraft conjured
by the nonbelligerent
to silence the bully
I summon some sweet,
musical, lascivious
words as orphic spells
In self-effacing
defense to tame the awful
beast with dirty magic.
(each stanza is a haiku - I think I’m in a Haiku phase)
I never think of
drinking tea - that's just not
me - but I like it
there are a thousand
things like those which define us
- our many small choices
Are our passions choices?
"Our wild passions instruct us"
- said wise Shakespeare.
I don't choose to
quicken my heart at the sight
of one special boy
so I'm not sure
how that works, the pushes and pulls
of attractions grab
But the effect stills
and taxes the heart like maple
syrup thickened blood
infatuation
lovely like a tsunami
drowned me just as fast
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