They say time heals all wounds.
I say, whoever said that doesn’t have a fucking clue about how I felt about you.
Still feel about you.
Norwegian Wood
How I loved those summer evenings counting the stars while you read Norwegian Wood aloud to me—the sentences punctuated with warm kisses and sips of vodka.
She Ran
She ran,
a trail of stardust in her wake,
past a rising moon
and fallen sun,
across a sky
of billowing black,
running forward
but returning back,
to the place
where dreams began,
on pillows pink—
the velvet crushed,
an opium pipe
in fingers held,
two lovers kiss
with smoky lips,
a trace of lemon
and honey spilt,
her sleepy eyes
a patchwork quilt,
all magic sewn
with golden needle,
upon an arm
with purple thread,
a pencil writes
another sentence,
a circle drawn
where it began,
another dream,
a new beginning,
across a sea
of poppies red—
she runs.
One More Touch
I love how your hips rise, reaching the point of no return, fingers gripping the sheets—my hand between your legs.
In Your Arms
Billowing clouds painted lilac,
splashes of pale pink
across a dawning sky,
your smile illuminated
by glowing shafts
of morning sunlight,
the sound of crashing waves
on a beach below,
another day
in your arms—
begun.
Chance Meeting
I still remember how we first met.
A late-night conversation on a plane, nervous words exchanged between the turbulence, your hand reaching out for mine when the shaking got worse.
Two strangers seeking solace from the storm.
A chance meeting, totally random, the odds firmly fixed against us, yet somehow love found a way to beat them.
By the time we had landed, phone numbers were exchanged, and a promise to do lunch sometime was made with the un-clicking of a seat belt.
—
How quickly the years have passed.
The lemon tree we planted, the one you bought us as a housewarming gift, all grown up and bearing fruit.
Speckles of dying paint peeling on the cobwebbed veranda.
Two cats and a canary sleeping peacefully underground.
A shoebox kept under the stairs, filled with Valentine’s Day cards and fading photographs.
Another bottle of wine empty.
—
Tonight we made love.
Rain lashing the bedroom windows, trees swaying, their creaking branches arm wrestling with a howling wind.
Flashes of lightning illuminating your face in the dark.
Reminding me of the young girl I fell in love with on some faraway plane.
How your hand reached out for mine.
And how love came and took hold of our hearts.
Never to let go again.
Poetry
The head can guide the hand that wields the pen but poetry can only be written by the heart.
The Hanging Tree
There was no warning.
No note.
Nothing.
Yesterday we were just two old friends catching up, sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket under a walnut tree. Sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels, reliving past memories in a beautiful garden on a balmy summer’s afternoon.
“Do you remember the first time we kissed in high school?”
If only you knew how many times I’ve cried today, answering that very question, over and over again inside my head.
You seemed so happy.
So full of life.
Your wonderful blue eyes squinting in the orange haze of a setting sun.
I can still feel the warmth of your hand holding mine.
If only I had never let go.
The Love We Share
The love we share
with open hearts,
overflowing—
like a river
And when we fuck
how beautiful
the night—
a firework show
on the 4th of July.
A Dangerous Sea
Lust is a dangerous sea—
the rocks concealed,
a lighthouse dark,
our hearts shipwrecked—
by a crashing wave
of complicity.
Her Voice
Whenever you spoke, your voice was like music. A symphony composed by the very lips I longed to kiss.
The Hunger
You gave me that look—eyes wild, pupils dilated. Sitting on the edge of the kitchen bench. Your orange dress hitched up, a busy hand between your legs.
“Fuck me.”
The intensity of your words piercing a cloud of thin smoke coming from the oven.
A lasagna burning.
Forgotten.
Letting Go
A single raindrop
clinging to a withered leaf,
the last sip of vodka
slowly slipping down
a tilted glass,
a cigarette dying
by a riverbank,
the last strand
of winter hair
turning gray,
ink drying
on a page,
all memory
of you,
quietly fading
away.
I Dreamt of You
You opened my heart
while I lay sleeping,
fingers turning
a broken lock,
the combination
I was keeping,
you remembered
while I forgot.
A second chance
another meeting,
a chasm breached
with spoken words,
forgiveness found
not mine for keeping,
in waking dream
all hope is lost.
How Can I Move On?
How can I move on?
When every single muscle
inside this broken body
refuses to wake,
paralyzed by grief
and desperation.
My trembling hands
unable to grasp,
the fragile pieces
of love’s jigsaw puzzle,
scattered by a wind
which changed
without warning,
a new direction
decided by you,
on a careless whim
with no explanation.
Here, take my heart
with hammer held,
and finish the job
your words so
poorly started,
leave me empty
no trace of dust,
erase all memory
and delete the past,
squeeze the last
&nbs
p; drop from my
crying eyes,
for until you do
how can I move on?
Cold Comfort
You became invisible,
a ghost haunting
the ruins of a heart
left broken,
where love
once burned,
so quickly taken,
like a bucket
of water
thrown on a fire,
all trace
of warmth—
forsaken.
Rena
It was her eyes
that sang the songs—
with a voice
that reminded me
of rainy nights
and opium.
Like a runaway kite
lost to the wind,
summer storms
and circus swings.
And when she sings—
a spell is cast,
her rose petal lips
breaking hearts.
Nia
Twenty candles
burning bright.
A love composed
its rhythm kept—
by beating heart
and bass guitar.
A violet held
in summer’s hand.
My birthday wish,
your happiness.
Perspective
The further we run away from our heart, the quicker we lose sight of who we really are.
Death
It wasn’t death that frightened me.
What really terrified me was not knowing when I would hold you in my arms again.
—
“We’re soul mates,” she whispered. “A love like ours can never be lost. Not now, not ever. When you take your last breath, it will just be a momentary pause in time, before our lips find each other once more.”
Empty Space
I woke up,
not with the gentle
stirring of sheets
against my skin,
or your alarm—
Amy Winehouse
singing “Rehab”
on an iPhone,
but to an empty space—
the one you
left behind.
The Love You Give
It is your heart that beats within my body. The love you give—the blood that runs through my veins.
A Winter’s Day
Her touch felt like a summer’s day in the middle of winter.
Warm against my chilly skin, fingers stroking my neck as we sat at our favorite spot in the park, on an old moss-covered wooden bench that overlooked the duck pond and had a view of a church spire in the distance.
“What do you think is the secret to staying in love?” Lucy asked.
“Never giving up on each other,” I replied, putting my arm around her shoulders.
She was wearing the orange puffer jacket I had bought her. Last year’s birthday present that came with an airplane ticket hidden in the pocket. A surprise skiing trip to Aspen.
Lucy sighed. “Not always easy to do.”
I smiled and thought about her words. She was right. I remembered all the times I had fought for love in the past, trying to save a relationship, only to lose the battle in the end.
“No, it’s not easy to do. Sometimes hanging onto love is like rubbing two wet sticks together to make a fire with tired hands.”
Lucy kissed me on the cheek and slid her hands under my coat, reaching down inside my jeans.
“Well, these hands are far from tired,” she whispered.
—
“Do you still love me?”
“More than all the words I have ever written. More than all the words I will ever write.”
A Beautiful Conundrum
She was a mysterious girl, impossible to predict—a beautiful conundrum that kept me awake on stormy nights.
Far Away
You have gone,
somewhere far away
beyond the reach
of these hands,
wishing for yours—
the touch of skin
against skin
in a warm shower,
a memory reset
by the cycle
of a smiling sun
and crying moon,
my lips quietly
counting down
the days,
until your eyes
hold mine again,
and our love
is the only thing
we can see.
Roller Coasters
All that we seek
only confusion found,
in vodka shots
and empty pill bottles,
writing love letters
never sent,
riding roller coasters
on rusty rails—
our lives spent,
living the lie
but holding
onto the dream,
the sweet scent
of youth
corrupted—
by the reality
of tomorrow.
Before
In the dying darkness—
before the dawn wakes
from its slumber,
and a tired moon
falls gently
back to sleep,
before the first note
by magpie sung,
beneath the covers
of a restless bed—
the softest of moans
breaking the silence,
a sinking star
in a sea of black,
before a summer sun
rises in the East,
from open lips
comes the scream
of sweet release.
Run Away
All I ever wanted, the only wish I ever had, was to run away with you and never stop running.
Just Friends
It was her tightly held independence that stirred my heart the most.
How she lived life on her terms.
A runaway girl with stormy gray eyes staring out to the shimmering horizon.
Always the driver and never the passenger.
Slender hands gripping the leather-bound steering wheel of a purring silver convertible.
The midday sun beating down on a lonely desert road to nowhere.
A trace of perfume trailing in the wind from a neck I longed to caress. Her sideways glance in my direction, flashing me a rare smile with red lipsticked lips.
“Brand New Moves” by Hey Violet playing on the radio.
A lock of blond hair quickly swept away from her face.
Always in control.
Like the words she whispered to me last night in the tiny motel room.
“We fuck but we never kiss.”
A line in the sand drawn with her finger across my bare chest.
One we never crossed.
Just friends.
Second Best
The tragedy
of the dispossessed,
those lonely souls
with love—
obsessed,
no tears
can put a heart
to rest,
when chasing
a dream—
and settling
for second best.
All the Things
Just the very sound of your voice can bring me to my knees and make me think of all the things I’d love to do but dare not say.
S
andcastles
We built our sandcastles with hands entwined. The waves breaking between kisses melting upon lips sticky and sweet. The memory of pink cotton candy and strawberry ice cream mixed with a single sigh and a whispered “I love you.”
A heart traced with a wet stick you found under the pier, our names left behind for the sea to steal with white frothy fingers.
I can still hear you singing.
A spiral shell pressed to my ear.
Your voice laced with salty wind and sailing ships.
A siren calling me.
My mind drifting back to our last summer.
—
I caught a glimpse of you, the fluttering of a floral dress and a billowing lock of red hair, fading into a crowd of coffee-drinking strangers.
Taking a seat somewhere at the back of the busy café.
A year had passed since we last spoke but time had done nothing to still my beating heart. A deep pang of uncertainty rising from the pit of my stomach.
I buried my head back into my newspaper, trying to hide and not be seen, while my mind desperately tried to make sense of the conflicting emotions racing through it.
“Leave now, slip away unnoticed, escape while you still can … talk to her.”
The sweet scent of patchouli made the decision for me.
“Hi there, mind if I join you?”
I peered up from the pages, my eyes meeting the same gorgeous smile that haunted my memory during sleepless nights.
Daisy stood in front of me, her delicate hands pressed down on the edge of the table.
“Of course, please, sit down. How are you?”
My startled words betrayed the awkwardness I felt, a heady mixture of exhilaration and panic pulsing through my body.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to me. “A little jet-lagged, but nothing a shot of strong coffee and a glass of Pernod can’t fix. I wasn’t sure if it was you, but then I noticed the watch.”