bossa nova
sway
of hip to
hip,
dancing merely
hinting
at what’s to
come
once we commit to
some real
fun.
spiritual evolution
sunbather’s
golden
gaze-
unravels the
day
before my
melting
face,
and brings me
back to
life
before life has
its way.
the perfume of
her dream
teasing sounder
judgments-
painting minds
obscene,
while a melody
of memories
drifts me out
to sea.
i chased
you,
you tracked
me,
we melded in the
middle,
where both
could
see
that no one was
escaping-
that neither
heart
was
breaking.
fallen angel,
i don’t scorn
you
for wanting more than
what was
yours-
for trudging down
those stairs,
but am concerned
now that it’s
changed
your
loyalty
to playing fair.
dear
bumblebee–
you follow
me..
but flower i
am not,
though my scent
be raw &
sweet,
i don’t pose
pretty in
a pot.
to look back,
i’d catch but traces
of faces fading
to these
eyes,
forward i see
the next
step,
to a less than
easy climb.
i’m woken..
while
she’s sleeping-
thus unknowing of
my fears,
love turns over
to see me
staring,
and starts snoring
in my ear.
sorrow holds her
heartstrings..
and
he tugs
like they’re
unbreakable things,
they’ve got so
little give,
but she
has
a fighter’s
will to
live
she stares
from her painting,
like no one sees her
but me-
the lonely old
voyeur..
gazing up from
bent knee.
hands in the garden 
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