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Contrivance of Heart

Prescient companion penetrates repose
always beyond my focus. Who is he?
Akin, my secret hungering he knows
for, correspondingly, he dreams of me.
His fingers skirt the surface of my skin
as tender yearnings dominate their course.
My buoyant heart, perhaps a touch sanguine,
knows..even so…that you won’t be the source.
Undoubtedly aware that I fall short
of your, oft stated, ideal hearts desire
imprudently I undertake to court
your ardor, vain attempt to stoke the fire.
Your jaded nature, alien to me,
negates all opportunities of zeal.
And narrowness of ideology
decidedly extinguishes appeal.
So now, aware of how we’re not attune,
each hesitates to instigate the break…
Yet lingering compromises our fortune.
Contrivance of heart, a sly mistake.

Safe Refuge

Come give to me your lips with heart attached
and fall into the sumptuous abyss,
no worries of how suitably we’re matched
prohibiting surrender to my kiss.
Let loose the halter holding back your joy.
Pure hatred’s passion bared I would prefer
to modest self restraint, steadfast decoy
ensuring that fulfillment can’t occur.
What captivating charms can I employ
to entice you from harbor’s safe refuge.
No adventures of life can you enjoy
while fearful of a sensory deluge.
Sequestered in your carefully ordered day,
eschewing variations that expose,
life’s palpability you can delay
’till absolution greets you in repose.

The Dream is Dead

As long as possible,
I tried so hard to hold onto the dream.
I hoped a miracle
would turn me from this recourse, which does seem
now unavoidable.

You looked the other way
while I jumped up and down to catch your eye.
And now I hear you say
you do not understand the reason why
I choose to stay away.

The phone was to your ear
the whole time I was speaking from my heart.
Today you ask to hear
the words you missed, as if we now could start
to rebuild what was dear.

I ached for your caress,
while you looked for a stranger to hold close.
I see now you undress
me with your eyes, as if you could dispose
of your unfaithfulness.

But I meant what I said.
I’m free from hoping we will be as one.
Let it rest on your head.
You played your part and now my love is gone

Off Balance

Already way off balance is my heart,
from outward flowing since the very start.
Backlog of unexpressed emotions crammed inside,
such overwhelming tenderness of heart I cannot hide.
Yet, hold it in I must. I have no right
to flood your senses with my own delight.

Faces of the Lost

So many faces look on passing hordes.
Sweet smiling souls present through sparkling eyes.
Each ghostly visage posted here records
the hopes of loved ones about that which lies
beneath the smoldering hills of twisted steel
teeming with deconstructing rescuers.
Yet each dissected beam lifted reveals
the prospect that this daunting task offers.
Two weeks have passed now since that Tuesday morn,
when all of us stood frozen, mouths agape,
watching two smoking towers fiercely torn
tremble then tumble leaving no escape.
We scurry through the tunnels from our trains
and climb the concrete stairways to the light.
Darting through stopped taxis, as it rains
we duck into glass towers and toil ’till night,
avoiding views from windows looking down
upon that smoking blemish which reminds
us all of just how fragile is this town
that welcomes foreign tourists of all kinds.
Each one of us can see the spectral towers
reflected, as they stood, in our mind’s eye.
They represent the essence that now flowers
in our hearts and, as such, can never die.
For just as concrete, steel and glass may fall
the spirit of this City still holds strong.
It rises in the voices of us all.
Regardless of our birth home, we belong.
Thousands of perished lives have been the cost.
They left so many more behind in pain.
Please look upon the faces of the lost.
For each, a unique spirit still remains

Running from the Orchard

It’s dinner time. You must go home to eat.
I know, I know….but wait, before you go
enter my orchard. Take from me the treat
of one ripe pear so succulent and sweet.

I want to see you pluck it from my limb
and sink your teeth into it’s mellow flesh.
Sticky river trickling down your chin,
you, slurping loudly, suck the juices in.

So bountiful, my heavy harvest hangs.
Please come and feast on my copious crop.
I’ll proudly drop my treasures in your hands,
and joyously embrace you with my limbs.

It’s later now. You must go home to bed
I know, I know….but stay a little while.
My dewy soft moss cradling your head,
could you prefer to be at home instead?

Your Life is a Mess

A mess you say.
From where you sit
my life must seem a mess.

Your ordered day
can take no bit
of my unruliness.

But there’s a plan
none of us sees.
It’s piloting the course

of every man
who still believes
himself autonomous.

And so I race
towards or from.
Direction matters not.

I’ll reach my place
in spite of some
who think that I should plot.

Storm Brewing

Electron charged breezes raise my neck hair
as I walk the garden path with key in hand.
Anticipation builds as lungs breathe air
warm, moist and heavy. Now I understand
why my restless heart lifts me from my chair.

The Kiss

Around us throngs pass,
rushing back to duties
left untended, while
your potent lips press
pulling from my loin
up through my breast
deep fervor as we join,
tongues surfeit lust
to sweet excess.

You Are Grounded

At midnight I can picture you
with golden hair tossed back and laughter on your lips.
No need to listen for the door.

At one o’clock I jump up to
each sound. I look through windows hands on hips.
You will be home soon, I am sure.

At two o’clock I start to doze
and wake up with a start the moment I recall
that you’re still out there. So I phone.

It’s three o’clock. Now father knows.
I called and woke him up when my last phone call
went un-answered. You’re still gone.

Now it’s four. I’m at the window
once again. I think I hear a car door slam.
The street is empty. I feel fear.

At five I wake to hear the car go
down the street. You wonder now how angry I am.
YOU’RE GROUNDED NOW FOR AT LEAST A YEAR.