in that moment,
when I might know,
advances were of an innocent nature,
she cried inside,
not letting me ever see her pain,
yet I was the bewildered one,
now with a stain,
a lasting impression,
I would carry with me forever.
I suppose it is that patriarchal significance,
self-assured and callous,
anticipating the world to be our measure
yet in that quiet memory,
I do recall her laughter,
bring us to the top of the mountain,
just the ledge,
the ledge that kept testing balance,
would never have held us both.
In lasting memory,
I always do replay the moments,
and she would later,
have a confusion,
I can only hope would someday
turn a smile.
Have you ever really looked,
studied expression beyond a comment,
the quiet afterward,
if you could be inside that bubble,
how soon would despondency return.
I’m asking a question,
I already know the answer,
because it always returns,
despite my effort to want to move forward,
it’s the questions, the unknown,
the desire to feel wanted,
and then everything goes to hell.
Have you ever wondered if a person’s frame of mind,
is solely built upon interaction,
what if you put them in the words,
with an assurance of human isolation,
how long would they last before they decided,
nature might be the best solution.
Next time you wonder,
take a moment,
realize your impact is far greater,
than you might quietly ever imagine,
in the space of your own reasoning.
I struggle with words,
they seem to carry on a certain storyline,
one I can never really grasp,
until the print allows my eyes to remember,
the swimming in motion ends
when it becomes the right time to let go.
I’d like to find the imagery in pain,
is it the steel edge cutting into a red ribbon,
where eyes might watch the soul slip away
in steady stream
no more hesitation,
a quiet, soothing, not so eternal release.
A friend of mine once said to me,
it is true we live our lives a very short time,
so in that span of countless hours,
we might remember love,
for it is that spiritual energy allows our smile,
if only for a brief instant,
to give us hope, a meaning and reason to survive.
I know that sometimes words might convey meaning,
but if it isn’t felt then they do become
only a semantic journey filled with imagery and pause.
I struggle to know,
what is right from wrong,
when it is I know there is love,
there is a memory of need to share
what we both believe began our journey
I swell as easily into society’s trappings
as the next fallen victim,
that sir, a madam, that genuine spirit
knew the treasure of delight in passion.
Now today, a cloudy day becomes a regular
reality in that visual palette of survival.
I wonder why when I do reach,
the hands that create passion,
I hope might begin their return,
stay at bay,
wait again for some moment of indecision,
a perhaps metal wall
capable of no interference.
I remember when
eyes would speak a loud
until the words no longer need
only our writhing embrace
would carry out that lead,
while animals enhance sensuality
I do lie next to you,
in physical form,
a cup – your breast,
a soft perhaps wakeful gasp,
buttocks seek, legs now would writhe,
begin our wound desire … a sigh
my hand stays near –
just how to begin when confusion
while morning sunlight
could indicate the time is right.
I wonder what words would define
that fear in my eyes,
hesitant, evasive, questionable
all the diction in my mind
in a moment, a sensual
appears before a hungry glance
didn’t know you,
yet would see you with every fantasy in my mind.
Clothed or sweet musings of
would my world be a sudden
with a similar reaction
to a brace of arctic breeze,
the feel good kind.
I might rather languish in sweet pool
when in a moment of freedom
you dance a dream
a passionate twirl of romantic nuance
breathe a slow gasp,
allow eyes to dive into seas spectacular
in passionate embrace.
I would speak of this,
of a certain desire,
inside a world sensuous,
a place where we all might find
to verse, to linger, to enhance
are only redesigned
meant to suggest
some sordid frame of mind.
might create a sense of
from our reality of life.
When it happened,
I heard stories familiar
that could never apply
to anyone marginal,
only an indication,
a wonderment of
our living soul.
Will we ever understand
a basis of approval,
the sort that prolongs
beyond visual cues,
an internal clock
boggles the mind,
when the standard suggests
time is relative.
Inside the moment
a mortal choice.