every year
when the seasons change
and the dogwood loses
its flowers
i wonder if it will bloom
again next year.
an ice storm
broke the center branches.
they are so fragile now.
in the heart of it
they reach upwards
bending strangely from the
damage caused.
early in the spring
when it is as bare and
bleak as the world
around it
i sigh and say,
‘maybe i’ll
have to cut it down
this year.’
a few weeks later
the buds form
and the leaves turn
into rich green.
then the blossoms explode
and the center
is covered
hidden from the world.
in this moment i forget
that i ever
considered cutting it
down.
Tag: micropoetry
do not go
I haven’t slept
stay
there are places
we have yet to see
oh where oh where oh where oh where
that is how this poem starts
in my mind.
i asked myself, ‘do you recall
where you left that emotion?’
but i couldn’t.
so i just bought time
trying to wait it out
by asking,
oh where oh where oh where
a whip breaking
the silence of night;
stooping too low
against a frigid breeze
that even flesh upon flesh
couldn’t warm.
i will not
be remembered as such,
but echoes said
i would.
the same voice that
whispered love to my wrinkles,
and in the same breath
scolded me for
unlabeled erotic poems.
now, i will remember
you as such.
this
hold as whole
within one
two becoming one
one without
now gone
i am torn up
ragged
but there is pleasure
still to give
there is love
still here
to enjoy
i placed delicate lily petals
on the floor
and lit candles.
the light crept around
the darkness,
along with the sounds of summer
and the heat –
such heat.
i can’t remember your taste,
a memory i can leave
in the past,
but the lily petals,
how they curl inward,
flesh toned and sensual,
they remind me
of who i was –
of who i am –
even as i willingly
release memories of you.
this would be fine
touching the sky as we do
a million miles away
as we are
each one saying
this is fine
the dust of
the past
still
underneath
our nails
For Eszter
trees touch the early blue of dawn.
these old fingers,
bent from life and seasons
of joy and work,
are still moved
by pleasures of youth.
i enter
and wake you softly.
you, still wrapped in sleep,
warm, with
gentle sighs that tell of dreams,
of worlds not understood here,
here in waking-life.
your body, perfect to me,
extends and stretches,
exposing warm flesh.
it unfolds
and i explore your figure
as if for the first time.
i breathe in your sleep,
tracing your being
with my lips.
my body presses against yours,
my erection
reveals my thirst.
in continuous lines
i draw you with my fingertips
so as to hold this forever.
