Love Letter #79: Stowaway

As I looked across the table at him,
my soul, a two way mirror-
heart dissected, chastised
like love often is,
deflated, misunderstood
like the rhythm
of crashing cymbals
in a poet’s head at 3:00 am.

Everything seems dark these days
fists raging against the wind,
teeth clenched.
He runs beside the train,
she drops her backpack to her feet,
relaxes her face muscles;

We still flow like a river,
soft, steady ripples
like my skin
in the wake of his fingers.


Love Letter 77: Instrument

There are moments
when even poets
need no words
when syllables silence,
his fingers slide
across the palm
and criss-cross into mine
like a sanctuary for hearts;
the flow of feelings,
hum in symmetry
playing us softly,
like strings of a harp;
like poetry
off the tongue.


Love Letter #76: Creation

As flowers tickle tiny bare feet,
petals fall from fingers

he loves me,
he loves me not;
life spun into a silk dress
hands hold a bouquet
reflecting the light

from my eyes
to his
days and nights after

my giggle, his smile,
under a sky full of stars
all formed

from just the sound
of your voice.



Sky opens in the light of our eyes;
a violet sunset, the backdrop
for our symmetry.

Daffodils spring up like poems,
words fall delicate, like petals
in the wake of our smiles
lips, exchanging adjectives, unfaded,
like our love in the distance.


Love Letter #75: Youth is Overrated

Leave me here, amongst the wildflowers
in the shadow of weeping willows
oblivious to time and the lines it leaves.
I’ve known the beauty and pain of love
longer and deeper than you, poet;
alliteration flowing from waiting lips
that romance has never departed from.
Whispers still tickle the nape of my neck;
his fingertips tracing the curve of my smile,
pink roses behind his back and a twinkle
in eyes that see beyond the superficial;
stars lending light to natural beauty
in this temporary facsimile of life.


The Colors Mornings Make

They never understood my smile
as we passed blooming yellow daffodils
sprinkled with morning; petals reborn
each dawn, like my heart when we awaken;

sunlight breathing through curtains
blue as the peace I find in your words.


Just Another Poet’s Perspective on Perfection

From fields of bluebonnets
to scattered, tumbling dandelions,
to yellow painted suns;
the red blur of cardinals in flight
landing upon steeples of grace
singing psalms of adoration;

your canvas flowing
in ripples, before us,

so, how can I sit here

at this empty page?

Should I borrow blue
from your sculptured sky,
clouds bursting ivory stories
to lovers, gazing
tracing silhouettes
attempting to be filled,

but, still,

there are not enough adjectives
to adequately describe this light-
this love penetrating my heart;

the image-
the wonder of you.