Suppose

I wish I could stop caring as easily as you
were able to do
but I care more each day still
I suppose I should have listened
when you told me
amidst all your words of love
that you only really cared about yourself
and nobody else mattered very much
even as you whispered such sweet words
that filled my world with light
I suppose I should have listened when you told me
that you were selfish to a fault
but I didn’t hear
I heard only the gentle sounds of love
of longing, of desire, of bliss and elation
I heard only your promises of devotion
I suppose I should have harked when you said
that you were mercenary
unbeholden to anything less than
raw egotism
but I did not
I wanted to believe in you
in love, in passion, in gentle kindness
I wanted to believe in all the other —
sweeter things — that you whispered
I wanted to believe that you were not so cruel
and I’m damned because
I still do

Mesmer

You tore across my sky like a comet, daring me to catch you
in my hand and heart, some dazzling display of beauty and
light against the darkened firmament

You hypnotised me with palest skin and bluest eyes
words and promises of love and passion, my awe-struck senses
reeling in boundless adulation

You enchanted and entranced me, so I called you witch
and we talked of fate and everafters, those dreams of together
and belief in each other

You made me captive as surely as if, in some cage I was bound
your willing prisoner fondest desire, and I believed
in your acts and your words

You left me gifts, on my return home those days,
hiding in the mailbox to bring delight and adoration, and on some
you would wait in my bed for my return

You told me I made you feel, like no other before
such passion, and that in my arms you felt more special
than any had made you feel before

I remember the last day, before evening fell and with it your love
and your kiss and laughter and your smile, as beautiful as wildflowers
in spring’s early light

Then you chose, in some agony of feeling or remorse or spite
to tell him of us, of our affair and passion, though I suspect you left
out many details in the telling

With that you were gone, departed as if I was never in your life
never one you swore you loved and cherished, in all forms forgot
as a discarded toy in a dusty street corner

Sonnet #2

Whence I saw her beauty fair
And fell so far into her eyes
Her whispered name became my prayer
As shuttered senses did arise

Her kiss as sweet as dew dropped spring
Her breast my heart does hold
Her body next to mine does bring
That pleasure never told

To see her walk passion carries
Her words an ardour lifts
My heart and soul her loving marries
With her gentle gifts

Though she be not now with me
I’d still be hers though lost at sea

Yearn

I’ll bring you pink roses and some sonnets I wrote
Wrapped in tissue and the scent of spring
Amber trapped moments of borrowed time
Capturing instances of blue-eyed lustre
And the soft swell of pale skinned grace

I’ll bring you coffee and breakfast
To the pillow where your head lies
Kisses and smiles and contentment
All moments of gladness-stretched joy
In morning’s warm sunlit charm

I’ll adorn you with blossoms of daphne
Delight in the curve of your lips and fall of your hair
With words crafted of fervent devotion
Praises sung in whispers to your ear
To your silken smile and gentle breath

I’ll bring you the spirits of enchantment
In cupped hands encased in oriole song
Fresh-cut grass and sun-dappled shadow
Ovation to your unparalleled charm
Cast in glamour and beauty and vision

I’ll bring you pink roses and some sonnets I wrote
To the pillow where your head lies
With words crafted of fervent devotion
Ovation to your unparalleled charm
Immortal allegiance to passionate eternity

Devotion

I want to send you pictures
of yellow flowers midst decaying ruins
and of delicate dandelions floating in air
I want to send you pictures of lost boots
and found toys
and all those things that people discard
in the forgetfulness of memory
I want to send you pictures of soft lips whispering in
the ears of lovers
when the sun first falls on the land
before the paint dries on the golden fields
I want to send you pictures of graceful moonlight
on cold stark landscapes of hoar frost trees
and frozen ponds
I want to send you pictures of rusted trains
and lizards living light among the rails
of open oceans and wave shaped rocks
with wind as their only companion
I want to send you pictures of subtle hints and
forthright declarations
tall, proud, humbled, and frightened
I want to send you pictures of second chances and
noble causes, with breath like fire
and all of those silent voices
I want to send you pictures of broken men and
stand-tall women, terrified gazes and
strident stances, of bitter pills
and honeyed throats
I want to send you pictures of me