Take Two and Call Me In The Morning

original photo credit: Shutterstock

I wake to the sound of him
pinging my phone.
It’s too early for
bright-eyed longing stares
to the love of my life
as my eyes burn from
the phone’s bright light.

With eyes barely opened,
I reach over to tell him
“Good morning, my love.”
He sends his love in return
and I feel his love beating
through my chest from across the pond.

How his smile awakens every
nerve in my body, how it eases
every ache that arises as my body
shifts. If I lie here long enough
to soak in his beaming smile it’ll
surely eradicate the piercing forming
through every extremity.

Tender love is our medicine,
taken in various doses throughout
the day to coast along a high plateau.
And in this moment, our morning routine
of enchanting greetings and air kisses,
it’s exactly what we need.

The Secret Garden

bore from the most arduous labor,
its intoxicating fruit,
its sweet blossoming fragrance,
pulls in the strongest of hearts.
as a vine
snakes its way through the depths
of a luscious secret garden,
distinct impressions
produce
the richest aromas.
even to an untrained eye,
the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed.

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed;
even to an untrained eye,
the richest aromas
produce
distinct impressions.
a luscious secret garden
snakes its way through the depths
as a vine
pulls in the strongest of hearts.
its sweet blossoming fragrance,
its intoxicating fruit
bore from the most arduous labor.

nous avons tout le temps

This poem has been revisited often in the past few months. The original poem can be found here: Nous Avons Tout Le Temps Pour Nous. This final version below can also be found in Coffee Shop Sessions III: In the Arms of Love.


in the crowded city streets
sinking further on a midsummer’s night,
flooding puddles inch higher
as tiny tragedies.

can i make it there in one piece
or will he see the disaster that is me?

reaching for the door,
i let out a ‘just breathe’
then gingerly step into the world
where we’ve arranged to meet.

will this turn out exactly how it should have been?
i still believe that timing is everything.

standing to greet me,
his butterflies swarm from first sight.
yet my nerves have rattled for hours
ever since i stepped onto the international flight.

our smiles start to ease
as we embrace the shared space.
so many questions begging for relief
but we’d rather sit and stare into each other’s face.

soaking up this anticipated moment,
we catch eyes between sips of our coffee & tea.
although he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny,
i know this was all meant to be.

i let him take his time,
process all the angles of view,
tell him we’ll start with all the things
we had planned to do.

and we will.
we have the time.
we have all the time.
we have all the time for us.

In Solidarity


He looks to the left, a quick pause to check the commotion.
There’s shouting crying out on the street. Stomping boots,
signs in hand. It’s another day, another protest, nothing to
worry over. She questions him, “What’s happening?” It
could be anything, or nothing at all. They want attention
and this is the day they chose to be seen.

“You should go, I know I would if I could.” She embraces
the urge to signal solidarity. She recognizes the lonely pillar
of strength squawking into the void. She’s eager and enlivened
to join. “They need us,” she tells him. The artists, the movers,
the shakers. But they march where no one is watching. With
no real audience, nothing will change if no one is listening.

nous avons tout le temps pour nous

The summer’s ritual of an evening rain gushes down upon my large umbrella. I quickly step to dodge flooding puddles surrounding me. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing most of my life, avoiding disasters. But the person awaiting my arrival, he is my safe haven. Everything leading up to this moment, although it may have been disastrous at times, is exactly how it should have been. I pull to close the umbrella, brush a few raindrops from my face, take a deep sigh, and pull open the door to the coffee shop where we’ve arranged to meet. He stands to greet me. My nerves are shot, and I can’t for the life of me know where to begin. I squeeze out a nervous smile. We’ve already reconnected for the past year but, this is the first time I get to see him again and I’m uneasy. Do I start from step one, see where this goes? Do I immediately pull into the throes of a lover’s embrace? So many questions racing for an answer. I want to turn off the questions in my mind, sit here and stare at him for a while. Order a coffee & tea, and say something, anything to believe that this was all meant to be. I want him to teach me a few phrases I have yet to learn and do all the things we have left to do. And I know we will. We have the time. We have all the time. We have all the time for us.

Thanks for reading. This is an edited repost from August 2020.

The Gift and the Curse

what i thought i had lost,

a love that would never return,

now fulfills distant dreams-

an unanticipated ecstasy.

but while caught in the midst of it,

how is it that i still think of you?

the one who got so close but still so far away,

the one who buried me deep,

with a voice kept on repeat,

i can’t seem to make that voice,

or those words, go away.

how is it that ‘i keep coming back

to your shores’?

how is it that i keep hoping for more

when i know nothing

will ever come of this?

does the music ever provide the answers

or does it only tell us what we wish to hear?

One More Moondance, My Love

Originally published in Clay Literary’s RAVEN: https://www.clayliterary.com/post/raven-issue-eight-09-06-2020

A cool October evening presented itself in front of us,
the full moon in the sky hovered above, and the tension
between us lent itself to lyrics that resonated to every

following Autumn. ‘Can I just have one more Moondance
with you, my love?’ you sang as we walked arm in arm. It
was our first song, my first song sung to me. And to this

day, the smile, the tone of your voice, the way you
captured me, still sends shivers right through me.
From the first taps of the piano to the trumpet blaring

three-quarters of the way through, it all sends me back
to you. I halt everything to remember your voice, your smile,
to be wrapped in a moment with you once again.

in your flood

one step out the door
one step forward
one step closer
to the flood

one step backwards
one step in reverse
one step away
from drowning

a punch to the gut
and tears streaming,
more than the smiles
more than the ‘i love you’s

and how many more years like this
how much can i take like this

i agreed to ever after
but this now, these lows
i can do without
i barely survive the crash
before the next one arrives

give me time to breathe
give me time to survive
give me time in the clearing
before i drown
in your flood

In Your City

Originally published in Clay Literary’s RAVEN: https://www.clayliterary.com/post/raven-issue-seven-08-30-2020

eyes squeeze shut all at once with
wishes whispered under breaths to be
anywhere else, anywhere cooler than

the constant heatwave of near 100 degrees.
Toes dip into makeshift sandy beaches
along the city’s river while children

play in water fountains next to erected sandcastles.
But here in my city, it’s another monotonous
day. I am wide-eyed making 11:11 wishes to be

with you in your city, your heatwave, along your river,
walking the streets when it’s your midnight.
My sweat drips waiting for you to wipe it away.

I’m waiting for the days where we open windows
to a gentle breeze and kick away the sheets for relief.