SINK

I wear a cloak,
of sorts,
woolen -
gray, aged hue
a bit irritating
to pink skin
but warm to me
on frigid morn,
knelt in prayer
for companionship.

I admit
I have
whispered my own name,
eyes closed to
invoke remembrances
of lovers
who spoke it
with lust on lips.

Bodies mauled by
touches,
sunken
and thrown.

Bottled message,
scratched with
broken pencil.
Sweet contents
long since sipped
to ease
the parch of tongue,
but no ocean
to toss
the vessel in.

Filled sink,
cold water,
bottle floats.
I revel at
training
it to swim.

I humor at this,
yet continue
before
I photograph
the foolish scene.
The curves and colors
pleasure me.

EMPTY GLASS

I looked from empty glass of wine to first sight of you.
Ascertained at once that possession of heart,
I could, with no effort, have.
Lip gloss deftly applied,
tilt of head exact
and seduction by intellectual design.

How easily you came to me.

Since double digit age,
I've had the uncanny ability
to look into strangers' eyes
and know if their devotion
I would have.
Never a question of if, only when.

Perhaps your falling in love with me
was never as much a guarantee,
but as expected, it came to pass with gentle ease,
as first I knew it would.

Emotional conveyances secured
with little effort on my part.
Gift of love bequeathed,
but no longer am I interested in retaining it.
Uncertain why it is so,
but for me the challenge is in the falling,
not in the one I felled.

I crave the challenge,
not the prize,
the race, not the finish line
and for you,
I am sorry.

There was a moment, if only brief,
that I imagined you would be "the one,"
though several numbers which preceded you
no longer count to me.

And I have grown weary of stacking
loves like fractions,
one number atop another,
with no desired sum at end.

I want to cry, but never do,
as memorial for what
could have been, but this routine
has happened far too often
for compassion to take rise,
though I recognize that it should.

So for now, I will allow for you to whisper
your tomorrow hopes on sleepy pillows
before I slip out before sun rises
to curse me for the bastard
things I've done.

And I'll pray that you
won't hate yourself
for the pawn that
you've become.

Valentine's Day Open Mic

CLASPED

Scarves numbered by baker's dozen
veil the clothing
stuffed in suitcase
cornered at hallway end.
We mention not its presence,
nor how it taunts us with the security
that it will travel,
as I can not.

Folding pink scrap pieces of
scribbled thoughts,
she tucks them
in the side pocket of my purse.
"Read these after I've gone."
Routine, after each visit,
I disturb not the
perfect paper creases.

She will cry,
softly pleading with me
to place my feet upon sands
I read of often. Carrion to instead
stay behind, cold.

First childhood memory: ten fingers
of our clasp, swinging in unison,
orange flowered linoleum beneath
tiny, chubby toes.
Charcoal memorialized the moment,
years later gifted to her
across tile topped table.
We sipped creamed tea and laughed
at the traumatic events we'd survived,
together. It hangs
upon a foreign wall,
carried in case upon oceanic waters,
beside her.

Cancer made impossible what
the heart pleads for.
Dawn will wake me, cold.
Comrade departure will
travel me back into comfort
between stanzas, alone.

Ten fingers clasped again,
I make journey promises
and she smiles.
Point of sight lowers to knees,
following the path of one tear,
the only.

I pray in inward hollows
for miracle of word kept;
to leave,
just once,
with her.

PLEDGE TO OSIRIS

My palms hold within their lines
Maps with directions to find
Pieces of you which to all others are unseen
Preordained to locate 13 parts of the King.

I would use my hands to mend you
My knowledge I would willfully forlend too.
Offer my softness so to ease thoughts which trouble you
My strength sacrificed, yours then imbued.
Give freely of myself to nourish you
Then fall 1000 feet in hopes of being captured within your arms.

Would conquer every fear
Trade in society to be shipwrecked there with you
Like Sheba, I would stand in awe of you
Though never could I depart unto a land
wherein your footsteps did never tread.

And when my days were nearing end
I would pray our love would over death transcend
For the 14th part, to return to you then
Jeopardize my own eternity
Just for one final opportunity
To assuage your thirst
and be submerged
in your presence
once
again.

COLD FORNICATION

A type of madness I'm not keen to,

Crazy never spoke sensation to life.

Thought your smile a pier I could jump from,

Prayed to swim in the depths of you.

Bells splinter nights with incessant tolling,

Solemn mirrors, humbled retractions, tearing down.

Shadows tilt the scales of absolving,

Perplexed, my fingertips know not what to do.

Revelations are the ante denomination, 

Who was I to think to disapprove?

Prolonged exposure face deep in dark waters,

Cold fornication I lustfully dove into.