Forbidden Love

I fell in love with a married man,
He pursed his fingertips to his lips;
Whispered shhh and drew my near.
He ran his fingers through my hair,
Rocked me to and fro – suave in pace,
And with his spare hand held mines in place.
Sweaty palms and fingers grasping, clutching
This forbidden love has taken place.

shy

you're like false hope,
not the best but better than nothing;
no matter how high I am strung
at the end you manage to disappoint
in some small sort of way.
And every time I pick back up-
I do so thinking things will change,
but you're like false hope
just shy of great.

Feeling Grey

I saw the sky shot rainbow,
illuminating the soft winter afternoon
in a million hazes; its spectrum ran
from one horizon to the other. I stared
wide-eyed, bewildered at the arduous sight
that seemed to drench even my own skin.
Elation was how I felt, subdued by its shades:
that orange that excited me or the calming blue--
the sky is a whirlpool.
Time, it soon became due,
and the colors darkened and dulled,
it lapsed above me and deciphered a single hue--
grey, a monochromatic loneliness, it mirrored my mood.
It fused into my pores, and the melanin in my skin--
what that's left stood like blemishes
as if to remind me of better days.
...

The Distance Game

We subtly ignore each other,

courting in the ways we fair--

in catching glimpse of our affection

through  the stealing of a stare.

Distance is our catching game,

modesty is our hook,

we indulge in closure discreetly

while the other players' aloof--

While each encounter deals a new hand,

a different approach is taken, 

yet with the same strategy in mind.

We seek closure in inanimate ways,

make our mutual feelings clear then pull away,

and at the end of each night

we wonder what the other must have thought,

and quail at our own misguided venture

to stir the mind of who we want to love.

Daffy,

if you could come into my room

sleep a bit, pat me on my head,

tell me things are going to be just fine,

I'd up and away with you

in a sight. 

watch dog

Eyes that stare back at me
stare through my soul-
reading me, sizing me-
such a gaze so cold
that demand answers
when they really seek to know
how easily I will crumble
under their hold.

Parked on the Side

The language is different here when I listen,
their tongue not the same as mine when I watch,
their breath more pungent, their sound more erect-
talking amongst themselves discreet and farfetched.
I only hear blabber as they utter words,
and the flight of saliva that lands on their arms
they wipe away without a scorn.

stall

The journey stands still
in shades of gray
and colors of blues,
where I had looked
through a scope
and found with it
your broken smile.