My Travels
Your eyes are moors.
Your hands are angels.
Your hair is Autumn.
Your lips are frosting.
She wore red…
but I dreamed of her
in blues
You are my every line
my conscious grammar
my pen
my hammer.
The Grammar Lesson
You are my grammar
as I am your object
to accept your subject’s intensifiers.
Set me off in any sentence position.
I go as well before or after your verb.
I predicate your clause and need no passive voice
as your active verb
is always there to curb my adverb…
Blaze
You are my inner fire
my silver sharp
love’s harp
burning desire.
You are my runner girl
of fated sneaker…
Where is the lost and found for a love lost?
“Try the train station,” an ally alleged.
“Where will it take me,” I wondered back,
“heart in hand,
past the epicenter of Insanity station…
The Dream
The eyes make a woman
somehow surreal
dark and devilish
somehow drastic
in their opposition
to the cool curves
of the slick mountain
roads I followed
up and down…
Valediction
is it so easy to leave love
to rush off without a word
to run away spurred by anger
for what occurred
is it not absurd…
