I think of you, all the time- I really can’t help the hold you’ve put on me Chrysanthemums and roses To make my living place Look like it has an ounce of life residing in these four-chambered walls
Time is not, on my side Because I love you even more now than I did before Nobody has, the same grey hairs you do Same fearless aptitude Concerned look when I walk in the room You’re a lily growing in a field surrounded by vastness and open skies
I could cry The scariest thing about love, is that it cannot be replaced I remember looking at your face And knowing things will be okay, regardless if you were to turn away If I’m left in the dust, I’ll roll in it and breathe it in Draw elaborate diagrams of my lung damage because anatomy is my second language I miss your tooth enamel
On a Saturday, almost-afternoon Everything is perfect And I am crying, sipping my coffee Thinking that time has done nothing but grow my love for you
It’s so strong, like a branch that will never snap I wonder if you’ll ever figure out I love you like that
Free verse love poem: Speaking volumes (white florals)
I’m in the pool, with your gentle gaze moving toward the horizon Smooth riverbeds, crashing yet Solemn Tender in their collapsing wake My sovereign ways trap you like hurricanes Find slumber in the rectitude of my rendition of a classic painting of a Prince attending to a young queen Dismayed at her place, though in a quiet peace, That glances violently towards a moral upbringing A softness I couldn’t portray
The Dressing of the Favorite (1857), oil on canvas, by Henri Pierre Picou (French, 1824-1895)
A sea-foam fog dynasty I swore was mine I told you the truth It mattered to me I found thoughts in my mind that I couldn’t hold back, entirely Though I did my best, To provide you with rest My satin sheath, vibrant with scarlet cardinal fibers The delicate breeze, like rapture Golden but never, truth be told, reflecting lightning that makes marks in the sky A tribute to no one Is every structure soon to fall down? The bolts unfastened, my lace dress & ultramarine form A silhouette only God could have created A boldness that scares away anyone who isn’t Strong enough To hold a woman in his arms and Not want to change her
The light pink August calendar I have on my contemporary glass tabletop That forgot the date when we Began things Paved was our course with giving looks at each other like we’re in a vintage film A theatre for just the two of us Hopeful dedication Watching our past conversations and having new conversations about those from before We don’t run out of things to talk about But when you find me watching the cars on the road pass by us, viciously, Counting the trucks Taking note of their model and make You see something in me that I could not tell you Not because I can’t find the right words I always find the right words
Along the Siene, Winter (1887) by Frederick Childe Hassam (American impressionist painter, 1859-1935)
I don’t know what you know And I don’t know if you know me But when your gaze becomes increasingly familiar, I cascade into a Reflection interrupted by the silliest words you stream together A childlike ambiance, golden in accuracy Crisp like a wave’s current Interjected with passing a cigarette lighter Getting higher From rays of the subtle light of day, Muted only in temperament Dulcet on the edges I told you I was yours I meant it, of course
Le Baiser (The Kiss) (commissioned by the French state in 1888, carved between 1888-98) by Auguste Rodin (French sculptor, 1840-1917)
We stop at the gas station; you run in to the corner store; you bring me honey green tea For your girl (that is a friend) Patient and kind A dove’s brisk white feathers Softer than mankind Rougher than a woman’s fingertips Comfortable in the chaos Surrendering to a time when you could count the green specks in my eyes And smell my white floral perfume
It seems as of now we have moved on to the Heavens Where you call me Venus And I mistake you for someone I’ve never known before An oceanic climate to the boulders we create When we feel inclined to say Why do I like you so much? Why do I like when you’re rough? I do still find, thinking to myself, whether I’m good enough But when the porch light comes on, I move the thought along To the binder where I keep my disarrayed opinions Resolving to find Some water to allow My throat to stop tightening when I get up during the night Patience, my ever-present accomplishment, finds its way to you Presenting an elegance you couldn’t get from anyone else
Improvisation (1899) by Frederick Childe Hassam (1859-1935), oil on canvas
I find myself in spaces When you are absent Distress being transient Because your face is
A discernment I couldn’t get from anyone else
The Aleutian mountains and the disintegrating cliffs Couldn’t mask the foundation I thought we’d bring Resolving to find Some water to allow
My throat to stop closing when I sleep at night I wonder if styrofoam composure could fail to observe my fright To weave in serenity in light shades of pink,
On days like today, I’m unsure how to drink Come, lay in bed
