Love Language

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I don’t remember Rome
My feet upon the Spanish Steps’ amber hollow
Too, the rushed-through blue
Maserati 5-speed — did I dream it?
Adam’s lapis aura above mine own

It all escapes me, St. Peter’s Square
Peering out over the shoulders of Saints
Counting each cobblestone
And, inside, La Pietà
What tears and blessings I carried away

Yet, I still see Versailles
Grandeur in the Hall of Mirrors
Forgiveness thence reflected
Learning of gold-gilded love
Take me, as, I’ve never been

Pentothal Playlist

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I say, such songs
Imbecilic, hypnotic
Truthless reptitions
Needn’t define us
Insofar as we’ve allowed

Poor lyrics, off-tempo
Disharmonious disasters
Correct the record
Take back the microphone
Tuning fork in hand, now

Cowardice Sky

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Hell-bent on the past

Talking to ghosts

Ending sentences with propositions

Spinning the time away

That I’d finally let it all die, with courage, I speak to a cowardice sky

It’s been four years. I miss you every day. You’re the only one I want to grow old with.

These bad habits galore — what for?

Because, My Love

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Would the knave or the knife or whatever this pain be

Would usurp someplace else than the wound ‘twas left in me

Would that I have the chance with the welded tines of time

Would not I, having danced, not unspeak love’s blue-eyed rhyme?