Opposing Dialects Of The Same Depression

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Opposing dialects of the same depression
Feeling callow when we don’t commiserate
Paperback blues of a notorious sort
You got paid, but that won’t always encapsulate

Strike out to find something foundational
Charms of something more eternal than gold
Words are hollow if not properly digested
Cling to this disjointed life, if you be so bold

Writing Sonnets For My Beloved

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Writing sonnets for my beloved
But I cannot speak in pentameters
The lines & sentiment lost on my tongue
Erasing the stray marks upon the parameters

Mother Nature is exhausted
Discovering it’s time to hibernate
Humble beauty of the landscape
Folding into herself unto the infinite

Hearing the last strains of Autumn
But the air is still hot
Clinging to a customary belief
While we hide behind a fig leaf
But we all know leaves fall and rot

Saddle Up To The Counter

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Saddle up to the counter
Anxiety requiring a shot or two
Feeling warmth of liquid bliss
Slowly beginning to feel like you

Tension of these recent events
But knowing he’s always on your side
Methodically flirting for good measure
You’re aglow; his fair-haired bride

Hand in hand to go dance in the rain
Never letting storms dampen your night
Electric kisses & a dress clinging as it drips
It’s perfectly transparent; albeit no longer virginal white

The Sultan Of Suntan

The sultan of suntan
Smelling like oils & lotions
Sand clinging to your soul
Cleansed by the water’s motion

Purged of evaporating dreams
We can focus on existence
Wringing it all out
At love’s steadfast insistence

All secrets illuminated
Nothing remains within
Cover of cheap shades
Truth permeates the skin

Passion Failing All Around Me

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Passion failing all around me
We’re all exposed on the battleground
Hearts breaking wide open
Sketchy footing, leaving the night unsound

Cautiously looking out into the world
I’m safely behind doors & my windowpane
A vicious society who always destroys
Forcing love to wither & die in vain

Cherishing the woman I’ll forever desire
Who wears my great-grandmother’s ring
Upon us to ensure it doesn’t happen here
With her in my arms, I’ll always I’ll cling

Unfolding Broken Dreams

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Unfolding broken dreams
The distant & diluted flow
Our hopeless choices astound
The truth? We still don’t know

But we can never give up
Clinging to the last of our visions
Memories cultivated on dark nights
Leaving us exposed with obvious incisions

How do you translate a morning
When your soul bears undiagnosed pain
Scars from a life well lived
For in the end, disillusioned cannot remain

Wading Through Seawater In Your Dress

Wading through seawater in your dress
Clinging to your delicious curves
Exposing the universe to me
Standing at attention; all my nerves

You’re the anomaly of this world
Virtue & flexibility of our seams
Wrap your legs around my mind
Allow me the most sensuous dreams

Never to rejoin this delinquent society
Let me lead you with hands on your hips
To paradise removed from their hate
With nothing but flirtation on your lips

Gimme sass with a shake of that ass
Raising toasts to love in a crystal chalice
Our passion overflows conventional wisdom
Since I’m directed by the sapience of my phallus

I promise to hold you close all our days
& to occasionally provide your kind of cuddle
But I’ll always do that thing you like so well
The one that never fails to leave you in a puddle

Don’t Tell Me How’s Its Gonna Be

 

Don’t tell me how’s its gonna be
When you’ve never been
I’ve seen the angry sea
You’re not among the salty men
Don’t act like you have a clue
Clinging to the dirt
You’ve never seen a color that blue
Never felt your soul cringe & hurt
You’re looking for easy praise
Don’t want to be a weathered cog
Riding waves on endless days
You’re still crisp; a mere pollywog

 

Image by David Mark from Pixabay

Chasing Time Down A Rabbit’s Hole

Chasing time down a rabbit’s hole

Knowing there’s no way to go on back

Don’t look that way, it’s a mirage

Ghosts aren’t known to be tracked

But we seldom heed our own advice

Reason vanished into our past decisions

Demons try to cling, but they don’t exist

For these antiquated memories are mere apparitions