You returned my heart today-

not in the pretty package

in which you received it,


but tattered, broken 

and missing a piece.


I thought I understood love;

unconditional, untarnished,

but, you showed me new colors

in rust, ruffled,

weathered, beaten brown


like a lost kitten

limping back home.




He was an echo across waters;

soft chords that played

when my eyes were closed


still waiting for the chorus;


I pretended clouds were mountains

crepe paper roses tightly in my grasp;


a dream I had grown accustomed to,

then, there he stood in front of me;

an unexpected angel


harp strumming calm

to the wreckage I once called life.





Barefoot Love


As April bids us adieu,

her moist kisses painting petals

to dance upon,


we stammer in verse 

to articulate the beauty

of such a delicate season.

Skies rise and set;


mortals like us

taking terra cotta steps; 

swirling skirts brushing over daffodils


barefoot love upon blades of grass


as luster sashays through gardens 

like the goddess of Spring.



the Mystery of Wildflowers


I caught a glimpse of your reflection 

in pools of river water,

the green of lily pads making light

of darkness;


wildflowers hidden behind your back

and that look in your eye

that still makes me tremble.


Who said passion is only in the beginning

when words are new, scents intoxicating

and all of the little idiosyncrasies unexposed.


I could lie with you forever;

eyes dancing, drinking in the view

as if we just met-

plucking petals to see if you love me

or love me not.


Song of the Lark


Song of the lark echoes

where feet once tread

among fields of red;

poppies, watered with tears

of mothers, fathers;

bouquets carried by lovers


and generations

that would never be.


The flowers, they wait

for sunrise to spread love

glimmering upon once beaming faces;

ambitious ambiance kissing wounds.


The poppies, they salute

rising tall, only to rest

when sun sets


upon new born dreams.


Whispers of Fate

There are splinters that stick,

blades that shatter,

and waves of discontent 


attempting to drown the soul,


but, there is a will; 

whispers of faith,

never failing


and clarity


through clouds of dismay;

the path to passion, 

a daunting expedition.


Call it an adventure;

a wistful pirouette 

into arms of acceptance.


Kiss of fate joins hands 

with silent participants;

stars that linger 

watching love from a distance;


half-moon glances enticing waters 

to wave me home.






You make me want to fall

into that perfect place where muse, 

like ink, flows from silken swirls; 

syllables that flee from others,

and crawl on bended knee


just to play on your tongue,

drink every whisper

that escapes from your lips,

hanging on every word


like long lost kisses,

that finally found a home,.


I wish to be the flower you speak of

in that note hidden in her suitcase

tucked between perfume 


and scribbled remnants of you.