as promised…

i may not have your phone number
or know much more than your name
but none of that really matters
because i have seen enough to know
i would play twenty one questions
(although, i would prefer a game of truth or dare)
just to get to know you better

because even though i am sure it can not be true
i sometimes convince myself,
that i am the dream you always have

but never remember.

and all i want is know things like
your favorite color
and the song that changed your life
and the moments that made you see the world differently

and maybe-
if i’m lucky-

you would tell me the places to kiss you
that make your hands tremble

and maybe
if i dare you,

you would let me.

the iridium

ode to les paul

i remember standing out on the street,
it was mid december
and my breath slow danced in the air
swaying to the rhythm of the city
in the dim glow of neon.

my hands, wedged in thin pockets
were dry and a pinkish red
i should have worn a heavier coat
but my pride thought it would be enough
to keep me warm.

the doors opened
and all of us who were on line
rushed to get inside
and feel the warmth
of anticipation and coffee cups.

the basement was dark
with a small stage
it smelt like weak alcohol
and assorted cooked meats
but i didn’t mind.

and then
he walked on stage
guitar in hand
he was a giant, a legend, a genius
a feeble old man.

his mouth
danced with the notes
though it did not sing
but when he spoke
he said the crudest things

his hands
his calloused, wrinkled and worn hands
looked as if they were permanently molded
to caress the strings
of the guitar painted with his name

our hands (revised)

my clock’s got game.

the very moment i stop watchin’ his consistent rotation
he will run circles ‘round my lip biting, hair flipping conversations
speeding past wide mouth laughter,
stealing moments of our pre-summer romance
and the second hand, well it races, races right on through the nine
yes we’re closing in on ten
closing in on ten!
but the minute hand won’t wait up
and curfew won’t let us stay up all night and talk on my floor
about our big dreams and little wishes
so let’s have overtime in my car
and call a time out with our front seat kisses
with too much space between us

we need more time!
we need more time!
we aren’t stressin’
but damn clock
can’t you stop for a minute?

i just want a moment to take him in
memorize the features on his face
and the way his hand fits in mine
i want to feel the gentle touch of his fingertips
even when they aren’t there
yes, i want to remember it all
yes, i want to remember it all
for when he’s really not here come fall

‘cause his chest has been my pillow
and his heartbeat’s been my lullaby
a constant and rhythmic
soothing song
and i just can’t imagine life without that hymm by my side

he’ll play the part of socrates and i’ll be his scribe
we’ll spend nights having deep conversation in his drive
together we’ll contemplate the paradox of time
for two weeks has felt like an entire life
yet it’s flown away on the wings of summer birds
at the first sign of a winter breeze
and i’d ask for an explanation
but i know the truth won’t satisfy my humbled heart

so i just keep living every moment of every day
and when the minute hand starts racing, racing
and the clock’s game is getting the best of my days
i’ll make sure to remember how slow the hour hand can move
and i’ll be sure to concentrate on how slow our hands move
because my clock may have game
and he may be able to run circles ‘round my worrying head
but we still got time
yeah, we still got time to keep our hearts racing
racing until our voices carry to the other the end of the line
at the end of the shortest day of our lives
that is… until tomorrow passes us by

and we’ll continue on this way
until we learn how to beat the clock at it’s own game
we’ll continue on this way
until we defy the limits of time

static (revised)

i am a uni-verse
and you are the redshift
expanding the limits of the galaxy of my mind
you have me contemplating the notion of the milti-verse theory
because when i laid on your lap
i felt our stomachs expand and contract in inverted time
when i breathe in, you breathe out
our bodies caught in this game of pong
and the perfect rhymes to the multi-verses i write with you in mind
are wedged in the spaces in between
your belly and mine.

i know there are ninety-nine miles worth of trees
and fallen leaves
between us that say we shouldn’t even try
but i also know we have two hearts
that aren’t willing to say good-bye
and despite all this clever syntax
and the joining of our uni-verses
i have this feeling that a sin tax has been put on Love
as if it’s a crime for two people
to feel like one
and for their eyes to be distorted
by intrinsic happiness
or maybe it is out of pure jealousy
because they want sunset kisses
and late night lake visits
but if nothing else,
we will always have the month of blooming flowers
if nothing else,
we’ll always have static electricity
and if you ask me how i know,
i’ll say because my thoughts cling to you
like hair to a balloon
but i can only hope that the balloon reaches you
and makes you dream of things like romance
makes you believe that static is the answer
to all the questions of Love
because a simple cling is all we need
to defy the pending limits of
Time and distance.

kava (revised)

i push away random play.
i am never self indulgent or
looking for a shallow excuse for tenderness
and yet i hang my head in prayer
when the street lights say it’s time for night.

i know my sheets will once again
only be covering one tonight.
and i can’t shake the vision of
a city sunset reflected on the skyline
from my dreaming eyes
for dusk is the keeper of lullabies.

lovers are the guardians of the melody
which i have yet to sing
or hold onto.

so when my hands get cold in the moments after twilight
they find comfort in holding a smooth tea cup
both pinky’s rest underneath,
my thumbs point upwards
the shape of an hour glass in the space between my hands
my elbows upon the desk
like two leaning pillars supporting my solace
and i sip to ease the sorrow of another lonely drift into ‘morrow.

because in the middle of the night
my body lies beneath cold bed sheets
and my stomach,
my stomach screams out
for the gentle whisper of butterflies.

poetic justice

in my most tender of imaginations
foreplay feels like poetry.

intimate, sensual, tickling my senses
and taking hold of me emotionally.

each of my fingertips becomes a canto
of the poem hidden under my tongue
and i find all the ways to leave my verses
deep within the long velvet hall of a woman’s body.

i want someone to take my words between their teeth
taste them, chew them
turn them into pieces
then give um’ back
in the shape of hope or love.

i want someone to
teach me, what it’s all made of.

i have a feeling that justice lies in the space between
a woman’s breasts-
it’s possibly spooning with the origin of poetry
and it’s leaving me no choice but to surrender
and fall to my knees.