New Subject

Before we learn how
to write our stories
in bed,
before I found you
in your morning head,
I have studied your
ways in my heart,
how your love
seeps in all my
corners without a
single touch,
but with only a
glazed glass gaze,
full of promise,
of worry about tomorrow,
of a recklessness
that even I am afraid
to take…

You dismantled me,
unscrewed me,
laid me down,
part by part,
saw me in all my
my basicness that
puts off people,
you loved;
A new found depth
to my overly complex
struggle to be
who I wish to be,
and you still carried
your want,
like I’m the only want
you’ll ever need…

And I still haven’t
studied that part of
that familiar part
that I always see
whenever I’m with you,
the part that I understood
but yet foreign,
that strong front of
your face, wishing
that I’m always beside
drawing circles on our
shared headboard,
at the wee hours
of our quiet solitude

– J

A riddle between sheets

As the eyes open to the rays

of the sun in the night of mornings,

and the clouds danced

like the patterns on an old quilt

the mind drifts and swims

in its own made memories…

and a pillow under the head

with cascading brown locks

compromised the yearning of

human touch..the magic

that escaped from her tears..

In the middle of  a sea of white

and gestures so often foretold

by people who’s hands were intertwined,

and sonnets that were never told…

forcing me to ask the what ifs

of things I can never have

the sense with….

Missing  a part of the heart on

the carpeted floor and a wet

photograph of you smiling

with pure genuinity..

shards of glass being crushed

under my toes and it never felt

a single strand of reluctance…

at the end of sinking ships,

and folded sheets…

I left my mind to where it was last cradled

 with an ambiance so warm, enveloping a secure

sense of passion in a pseudo paris night so empty…

it bites like a cold winter’s morning..