Obession
There are times when love and longing
So numb the mind of reason,
That if the object of your desire
Should curse you to your very face,
It would sound to you
Like the words of a prayer.





 Wisps
At times it is mystifying,
This feeling.
Like gazing into wisps of blue smoke
Captured in a jar.
Beads of mercury.
Forever out of reach
(And just as transitory)
If I clasp the jar tightly in my hands
And hold it toward the light,
Even then, the beauty of it
Makes me sometimes forget the source of its wonder,
A fire that is dying.




 Trance
Often times I find myself drawn to the warmth in a promise.  
Pausing only briefly to hear, I linger there much longer than I should.  
How foolish.
Nevertheless, a fire of hope builds within me, and mesmerized
I walk headlong into its flames.




 For S
At times, I think of the sadness of the season,
And of a face I will not see this year.
I think also of the comfort of friends,
And the love shown without words in my sadness.
I also think of the laughter of former times,
And the dances no one has done since '85.
Crazy times together, wailing madeup songs
Movies and books and shopping the sales.
I think of the times we pieced together money for lunch
And the times later when we shopped for diamonds.
Yet, I am thankful for the kindness that shines in the eyes of my friends,
And the bond that was forged through my lost.




 Reflecting
My heart still reaches for you, 
Like some errant child that does not quite understand
That everything which is in reach, 
Can not always be had.




Markings
Seared into the deepest part of me,
Your name.
You placed it there.
As skillfully as any surgeon.
And now the madness that is you,
Consumes me.
I carry your mark, forever.




Restless
At times the mind will not rest.
Churning and tossing.
Myriads of breakers dashing violently against the rocks.
Thoughts emerging, like seaweed and mire
Stirred from the depths of a restless sea.
Your heart anchored into nothingness.  





When We Disagree
I hate it when we fight.
You, spitting out your displeasure in clipped words
That ricochet around the room and pierce my body,
Leaving me stunned at their violence.
Me, slowing seething,
Wanting to rush at you with all my might
And shake and shake you until the torrent ceases.
I hate it when we fight because I worry that this is finally it.
You'll go too far. 
Or I will.
And I don't know what that will mean for both of us.
I fear that more than all the words you say.
When we fight,
I hate the silence after the storm.
The strained politeness.
The distance.
And I know that I will be the one who finally
Waves the white flag
And sues for peace.
Otherwise, there we will dwell
In our encamped cities,
Surveying the wasteland between us.





Private Party
Inside my heart,
Reserved for a party of one,
Is a standing invitation to you.





Tracings
When soft, I think on things not long ago,
I pause to see the changes each of us has made.
Like markings etched in stone,
That can be traced but never quite  deciphered.
And yet I marvel
At how things long dead,
Can rend a heart and cause such pain to flow.