another dutiful poetry post

...............

I ought to only post poetry when it's good poetry.
I shouldn't ought to post things I know perfectly well aren't very good, just because it makes somebody sad when I don't post.
But if you're friends with somebody, and they say they're sad because you haven't posted in a while - and that's pretty flattering in itself, that anybody'd be interested enough in your silly little blog to be sad when you don't post - what can you DO? When my friends are sad I'm sad, and if I'm making them sad, well...that's pretty ridiculous.
Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I conclude...
Blame Jesi.
That said, this is old stuff that I had kicking around. It's kicking around because it's not exactly meant to be read by other people, which means that it's icky touchy-feely love poetry.
I suppose, if you want to read it like this, it sort of chronicles a relationship.

................



Unfortunate Perfection

Yesterday I pretended to slip,
dipped my hands in motor oil
so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch you.
You are
so perfect.
I knew, but
I’d forgotten the effect
of the dimple in your shoulder
the way you laugh
(never with me)
when you want someone to notice.
The way you smile
(only at me)
when you know I notice
everything.
I am overwhelmed.
Even without the oil,
you are too perfect to touch.

Unfiltered

We talked about
nothing
for an hour
and then you said
you had to go
and I said
I loved you.
It slipped out so easily, as if
I’d said it a thousand times
and maybe I had;
But never out loud.
There was a moment
a stumbling.
you tried to smooth things over
and I tried to laugh
but couldn’t quite.
‘I love you’ hung between us,
waiting to be taken in
or taken back
or swept aside,
unwanted.
It was not my intention
to say it;
the truth has a way
of slipping out.

Complicated

I wake up logical
eloquent
determined,
and you
undo me
with a single breath.
What is this? That thing
called love?
I do not call this
(degrading)
business, with the pounding heart
and sweating hands
love.
I call it just
a complication
and wish it would go
away.

Sleeping Over

You make it too easy to pretend.
Your breath a whisper on my cheek
your hand in mine,
the line of your leg.
You.
Your rules are impossible.
Look but don’t touch
or do touch
but only so far
no further.
When did the line of friendship
get so crooked?
When did you?
When did I?
I press kisses to your wrists
(is this allowed?)
trace the side of your face
with fingers that shake
waiting to be told enough.
Watching for the warning in your eyes.
When you leave,
I lie in the place you left,
bury my face in the warmth
where your skin has been
and despair.
When you leave
it is hard to remember to breathe.
One day, maybe,
we will stop playing games and pretending,
and I suppose that will be the end
and I suppose I will go on breathing
and I might even be relieved,
although it doesn’t feel that way.
And one day, maybe,
I will stop wanting you,
and will be able to think
of this night
and laugh.
(but maybe, too,
the sky will fall tomorrow
and save me the trouble.)

Shooting Star

Kiss me, Sweet – tomorrow we’ll pretend
it was the rum, the music
the moonlight.
Hold me closer – we’ll pretend
the stars made us dizzy
and we stumbled
together.
It won’t be enough:
I owe you forever
not just a moment
we’ll have to regret with the morning;
It isn’t enough
but oh my sweet – the trouble with time
is it passes
Tonight is trickling
through our fingers and tomorrow
waits in the wings.
Kiss me and make me
forget…

Fun and Games

I am like mud.
You trample me down because
you like the feel of me between your toes.
I’m fun to play with but don’t forget
never forget
to wash your hands of me
when the game is done.
Don’t take me home;
scrape me off at the doormat
shake me off out the window
scrub as hard as you have to
to send me spiraling down the drain
where I belong.


Rulebound

I have an idea.
Let’s play
by my rules
for a change.
Let’s see
how you do
when it’s you
uncertain
unhappy
confused…
Or better yet
let’s just
not play –
pack up
the board
stack up
the cards
and walk
our separate
ways.
I daresay
seeing the back
of you
would do me
wonders.

Lessons

It’s easier than you might think.
Just like the Wile E. Coyote
You can run on air
but only if you don’t look down.
Here’s a tip for you
first time flyers:
don’t.
Gravity doesn’t like
being forgotten.
She packs a punch
so next time you’ll remember.
(next time I’ll remember)



Indelible

You are gone
(and yet remain)
I throw away the presents
the pictures
the memories
sweep the floor
change the sheets
paint the walls.
I scrub my skin
red and raw
(it stings like your fingers did)
till it smells like nothing
but pain,
go through my inbox
and delete you
key by key.
(It isn’t enough.)
I have washed you out
of my world
(but my soul was less
accessible –
your voice still walks
through my thoughts
and the ghosts of your hands
still slide
down the small of my back)
you are gone
and oh
why won’t you go?