YOU

You, palpable.

You, tactile, visual.

You before breakfast taking pleasure from my body.

I would recognize you anywhere, even with the gathering of time.

If I had no eyes, I would know you by Braille,

ever lucid on my lids.

I could feel you with no hands,

hear you with no ears, sense you by the aura you emanate.

The  corona that crowns you embraces and includes me.                              

By that alone,  I would know that you are… 

the silence behind your words,

the seer behind your eyes.

You are a magnetic force, not by your deeds–yes or no;

And I am a distant star destined to circle you from afar.

GUTTED

I heard  you speak the word…married.

My mind froze. My heart stopped.

I couldn’t  breathe as it entered my body 

cutting out the space where you used to be.

Gutted. Eviscerated.

Excised with no anesthetic.

Will it still be there tomorrow?

There is no tomorrow.

I didn’t die, but we did;

taking time away with no reprieve of the past,

leaving me disfigured, severed.

Like the last time.

Love no longer has your face or body 

to invade my dreams.

Now your memory has a fence around it. An inner: No!

Irreparably, it cannot be otherwise; because it is.

It already is.

WILD ONE

He’s a man that don’t believe in fences

He’s got his freedom and won’t give it up.

He ain’t crazy, just a little restless.

So hard to handle, so easy to love.

Won’t be settling down with me.

Ain’t putting his heart in chains.

Like a bird that is flying free,

he’s the kind that you just can’t tame.

He’s a wild one with a gypsy soul

And a runaway heart I can’t hold.

A wild one, like a rambling rose.

The last to surrender, the first to let go.

Wouldn’t promise he’d be here tomorrow.

He couldn’t give what I hungered for.

Gave me love but it was just to borrow.

I thought I had it and still wanted more.

He told me that love ain’t free—

the bars of a velvet cage.

Won’t live in captivity.

He’s the kind that you just can’t change.

He’s a wild one with a gypsy soul

And a runaway heart I can’t hold.

A wild one, like a rambling rose.

The last to surrender, the first to let go.

You Tube Wild One

SLOW DANCING

I have no volition

beyond the last  look you left in my eyes,
your last touch cold upon my skin.

The press of an unfulfilled quest

impels us us onward

beyond all reason and restraint–

slow dancing a choreographed waltz 

 until the music stops.

 The steamy tango has melted into memory.

 The bonds that hold us unbind–
Frayed ties unfastening 

as we extricate ourselves from 

the promises written as Scripture to live by

to be renounced and left lorn;

The mode, the manner and the tempo has yet to be decided.

No one wants to be the first to say goodbye.