Holocene

Politicians laughed and the poets dreamed,
and our love was showcased like artwork in the Holocene.
I decided to reach out to you, across the Atlantic engorged in blue -
I have so many things I’d like to say
but hesitation has me waiting yet another day.
Writing out all my points to get across,
as I look at the neighbor’s windows turn to frost.
Sifting through all the rumors that were never true...
smoke clears the ashes of our past, us being one of a troubled few.
As your promise to me reflects a gilded hue, the only man I see is you.
Dense mystery cloaks the night as I lay in bed -
God, allow me to rest my tired head.
The grandfather clock casts its devious spell,
with every echoed chime, my prayers all turn to hell.
Our bed is made, the stars are crossed.
A revolution is brewing, babe, and you’re the boss.
Nerves strum across my fragile chest
as I feel his fingers add pressure on steel, cold frets.
Sleepless minutes morph into early morning hours,
he bows before me - I turn my heart away, walking the path of a faithless coward;
but maybe now is the time to shed my fear…“oh, not now, let’s wait another year.”
The inertia in my soul outweighs my desire;
a stick, a match…fire strikes - I watch my hope burn on a funeral pyre.

 

"Good Luck, Kiddo"
Photo by Skye Lyon. 2012.
Kaori Japanese Sushi Bar

Wine In a Coffee Mug

The sun is sinking and is awfully missed.
Cold breezes are for the keeping and lay motionless
in dark hair. Fragile lips count the teeth in a lovers mouth,
and the town elder rests stout in a rocking chair gazing upon what could have been
years and years ago.
Now loneliness is hidden knee deep in a blanket of snow
with each coming winter. As long as we have each other,
babe, spring will lead us back to the moment
when we fell in love. In the midst of autumn’s cusp.
You, my awkwardly beautiful man, wrap your lips tenderly
around my coffee mug - drinking the wine given to me by my mother
years and years ago, under fragmented stars
that we interpret as scattered gold.
Hiding secrets told to me by October’s harvest moon.
Sacred riddles no one will ever know – no, no, no.
No one will ever know.
 When I curl my body into yours, will you tenderly

whisper in my ear…the new daylight rays
will mean nothing to me if you are not by my side.

Only through the insomniac down time, do I learn to shed my pride
 'cause we will all leave eventually,
oh, but darling, nowhere near our “now”.
The boreal lights lull me into your private needs

as they signal us for a final bow…
until tomorrow, my love.