Train Ride Home

inspired by The Last Night of Your Trip

on the train ride home
your smile flashed between buildings,
lights flickered and i couldn’t tell
if it was the spark in your eye
or the streetlights beaming
onto the dark streets.

i saw your smile and your hand
reaching for mine,
those bedroom eyes
that whispered “bring me
to your hotel.”

we weren’t made for cheap
sex, we were poets
who felt everything down
to our souls.
it wasn’t just one night with another,
it was our lives coming together.

your smile chased me
between the streets.
your breath next to mine
will always be the one thing
that sends me off
to the sweetest dreams.

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.

The Thorn in My Rose

her name, her existence- a thorn in my side;
a sting, a puncture, knowing she captured the sought after prize.

though a thorn is easily removed and leaves only a slight wound,
i have become an empty vessel, void of a beating heart, bidding for its return soon.

unrelenting, unforgiving, i want to bend back her fingers one by one
as her tight grasp still consumes.

in any other circumstance, we might have been friends
but in this life we’re on opposite ends.

The Gentle Birdsong Calling of Spring

it’s right underneath,
brewing under my chest
this quiet whisper circling-
not spiraling downwards as
i often tend to, but in the way a
gentle breeze swirls a handful
of leaves and they flutter away.
there’s an inquisitive nature
to it where there is somehow a
sense of magic at hand, and yet
somehow there must be a reason
to it all. a scientific process that
always begets the same results after
following a specific pattern of events.
the snow will always melt with the touch
of warm air. the birdsong will always
bring a sense of relief for the return of
Spring. and the lovebirds will rejoice
after surviving the long Winter, nuzzling up
to the love that kept them warm.

Home

image credit: https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/pretty-sexy-woman-silk-10931620

is this my home?
spinning ‘round n round
going from high to low
and back ‘round again.

is this that place where a heart feels heard
and shoulders ease?
for far too long the tongue’s been tied
and the shoulders tense

from being left in the dark
because my stories don’t matter.
the voice has been shushed
and pushed into a corner steadily decaying.

do you hear me
as you untie my wrappings?
do you wish to pull out my stories
while uncovering my parts and pieces?

do you turn the lights on
and keep them shining,
to see all of me?
or do you take only what you need?

is this where I belong
or do I hide in the dark
to seek comfort and refuge
from a stranger’s company.

i would tell if you asked.
i would say so if only you took the chance.

The Looking Glass

the looking glass
possesses fragments of a view.
surrounding figures and forms
collapse as our fingertips meet.
yet, steady is the scene
encompassing pieces of you.

limbs undulate tenderly
with the slightest breeze.
wildflowers spread their seeds
dropping impressions
attempting to gain greater visibility.

such bits linger out of view,
boulders that were planted eons before,
torrential rains that flooded these plains
leaving ridges deep and wide.

yet, this singular slice,
the object of my heart’s deep affection,
is purely the only matter
that requires my line of direction.

image source: https://twitter.com/Bettyxx84/status/1348674161623887876?s=20

Cupcake Dreams


moonbeams and cupcake dreams.
sugar highs into the night.
we’re whispering nothings,
how our lives could be.

knowing the truth,
looking into your eyes
you are the moonlight
in my darkest of nights.

so, love, break my heart
into a thousand pieces
because all of my insides
are craving your sweet creamy filling.

This poem can also be found in Coffee Shop Sessions III: In the Arms of Love.