An Exercise In Structural Disintegration

Such flawless skin:
Few women can inspire
The flow of my pen
In the way that you do;

I can trace out
The contours of your collarbone
As I feel my hand down your neck
Towards the side of your arm;

I am reminded of Everest:
The fairness of your skin resembles
The beauty of the snow caps
Basking in the warm radiance of the sun;

I feel a rush in me as I
Desire to reach
The peaks of excitement
With you and only you;

I feel my pen disintegrating
My stanzas not making sense
As my heart pounds harder and harder
Just looking at you
Sitting there alone touching
The back of your hair

And at the moment
Oh I wish that hand touching you
Was me!
Oh thy glorious skin!

As I struggle to catch my breath

In you: my universe is found.

 

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They Come On

They come on
In little bits and pieces
As a suggestion and a little nag
That pokes and jab at you;

It is as though they’re saying,
‘Time to take heed and watch out’
We may come for you
All over again (if you’re not careful);

They continue to tease you
Making you itch a little
Through light irritation
Sometimes a little bit more;

Then they come in patches:
That is when we know
We need to keep watch and maybe
Start examining and making change;

Still bearable it seems
We console ourselves
Poking at the little patches
Thinking it would go away;

Then they start their full assault
Taking over (your) control
Leaving you in drapes and
Perhaps in bewilderment and regret;

Why
Then you may ask yourself,
Did you not take heed and
Take precautionary measures?

Maybe the host is not strong:
Not as strong as he thinks he is
Not as in control as he likes to be
Not as clever as he seeks to be;

Maybe the fall began
In winter twenty one six.

Minute Hours

The clock strikes twelve:

The minute hand goes back and forth
Undecided on the twelfth hour
Whether to be five minutes early
Or five minutes late;

The hour hand looks on
Almost in disgust at how
The minute hand oscilates
As though in two minds;

Between the hour and minute hands
They can’t decide who moves on
Or who calls the shots
In affairs of moment and time;

Little wonder when it comes
To the brain and the heart!