A red button isn’t to be pushed,
and I knew it the first time our eyes met.
I can’t not…..
We talked so effortlessly, instantly familiar.
I nonchalantly sent you that weather forecast for the northern lights, just to have an excuse to text you.
When I get home I lay still staring into the ceiling, you roll around my mind uninvited.
A solitary ping pong ball in a storm.
My dearest dear Be’er
That is what I always called you.
Endearing, to say the least
Although you now cease to exist,
my memories of you will never cease
As in my heart, you live forever
But how I do miss you
More than you could ever know
All that I ever wanted was a better life
For us three
In the distance, a small flame,
which warms my heart with a radiant glance through eyes that allow me to look into a soul,
A secret room that only I have been given
the only key to one lock of its kind.
Deep inside is where two hearts caress and passionately kiss
And recite a loves ballad.
A poem with no end but constant new beginnings
as our hearts find new ways of discovering each other
Like the frontiers of a universe with no end, like infinity itself.
Here is my Garret up five flights of stairs;
Here's where I deal in dreams and ply in fancies,
Here is the wonder-shop of all my wares,
My sounding sonnets and my red romances.
Here's where I challenge Fate and ring my rhymes,
And grope at glory -- aye, and starve at times.
Here is my Stronghold: stout of heart am I,
Greeting each dawn as songful as a linnet;
And when at night on yon poor bed I lie
I see ever-repeating circles,
beds of roses
colours of the rainbow
love in living colour.
I see squares, each with four sides,
Equal in length
Like the love of two hearts defined
My heart has a defined and enduring shape,
I am bewitched,
Fully fleshed in this space between us, my hands that yearn to reach for you hold on to the edges of my sweater instead.
We sit with our lungs, hearts, and souls spread open in the dim of the night.
fresh like spring and sensitive to the world outside the window,
Yet the only thing that crowds us is a funny warmth.
The kind that spreads to your toes and fingers
Cradles you in the early morning when the dew is settled on the grass
When the line between friends or more is blurred and yet it's too late or early to distinguish.
And our words are heavy yet smooth like tea running down a sore throat.
It was past midnight,
On New Year’s Day,
On a charcoal-dark, cold winter night
When Linda received the mail of
The postman was late,
Delayed by all the glooms of winter.
Her lamp had run out of fuel —
Gone with the old year.
But even in the darkness,
If you are licensed to love me,
Then go on and love me.
Do not wait for the moon
To remind you...
The moon sprinkles ash
On wet souls, through beams
Of heated caresses.
She serenades the skies on
Nights that flourish with the
Past, posting lewd jokes on
She left at the yawn of dawn
Between fog-densed waking hour
And rain-soused grey morning.
Veiled, her image was laced in silhouette.
She stood behind the fog-rain, a dark
Painting, sketched in black crayons of
Her breath, one streak of ink
Of a satanic fresco on a dingy subway.
And the breath of the rain was heavy,
The October moon winked in the
cover of midnight darkness
and I saw love in her eyes —love
she’s been doing her best to hide all this while —
not minding the stroke of midnight
when hearts pound loudest among those
who keep vigil for love.