Love Letter #13

It was a good night to write
all the right fluff at my back,
your hand holding mine
and a warm cup of coco bella tea
(from that little cafe in Port Renfrew)
with heavy cream
and a dash of cinnamon.

Now, if I could just find the right adjectives
to express my feelings when you come near;
how even after all this time,
my breathing becomes erratic
and there is a fluctuation of beats-
a dancing in my chest
even when there is no music.

The atmosphere is just right
for tea and poetry,
but a thesaurus cannot help me
to fine tune this love story;
this assonance of us.

~

Unauthorized Biography

I wonder in what universe
your myths were created;
biased recall
accepted at face value,

tales, twisted, manipulated
and hung out to dry
with your dirty laundry
pinned up and pitiful
as the fair-weathered farewells.

Love left, unreciprocated
and forgotten
as the counterfeit paper
between us.

~

Fruitful

You come to me when days are long
and legs are weak. You lean, weep,
speak of willow and dandelion
all the while, tasting of my spirit;
my branches around your beating heart.
I recall you running barefoot
seeking shelter beneath my blossoms
when nights were cold and mornings,
oh, mornings, you were only a seedling
starving for light to nourish the soul.
Now, you and your lover write poetry
as I look on, envious of your summer,
when my harvest is abundant, you drink,
but, have not a morsel to share.

 

~

Testimony

In moments when rain falls
from weary eyes,
like rivers that never end,
this heart,
this heartbeat, fragile,
patched up, on the mend.

I summons you
above all constellations,
in dissertation, in plea
though words, blue as sky
high as mountaintop,
insignificant, me

with nothing to offer
but a softened heart
which has been my demise
and hands, folded like flowers
head, bowed,
every single strand,
you recognize.

Carry me higher,
fill me, mold me,
move me closer to your will
that I may share my story
as you would have it,
through broken heart and quill.

~

Humming to Mozart

Thunder and lightening use to shake me;
paint ebony rain where pretty flowers grew,
but, now, they are the chorus in my dream-
the highlight of my sleeping symphony.

~

Where Are the Daffodils?

Are you waiting for February to show your love;
you blossom-less days forbidding kiss of sun;
you willows dangling remnants of white, weeping
like ravens whispering lullabies to starless nights?

~

Sticky Notes

Let me line your path
with alliteration
like a love letter to poets
left behind,
save the waning moon
and bag symphonies of stars
to untie at your beckoning.

When you water the daffodils
barefoot, in Spring breeze,
think of me,
in lovely adjectives;
hearts stick-scribbled in sand

and turn the pages
now and then
to refresh my feelings,
for, words are all I have to leave
with wishes for giggles,
and this love, bubbling over
with no place left to run.

~

Strum

Could we pretend to dance,
twirl me like you did once
as stars looked on,

before our spirits entwined;
you, with flute of wood
accompanying strums; hums
of this weeping harp
beckoning your fingers,

swaying the mood.

Wrap words around these notes,
proper, but pleading answers
to unforgotten promises
lingering in these candles,
white and seeking song.

~