Webster Defined

I know this night

Allow me to define

Temperature just right
Songbirds dancing in the dusk
A perfect ambiance

I know this night well, I say!

Yet still unready to admit
The aloneness of it
The how I see clearly
The what that she has that I should have

Trepidation as stars begin their show
Is all the what that I have

My big, demure eyes
My young, smooth skin
I’d trade her for her treasure
Then maybe in the mirror see
Somebody you love

Melanin in Me

Don’t be sad for my curves where there often aren’t
They feel fine on my long German bones

The Irish-ilked will in me fist-fights eternally
With my most straightforward Grecian nose

Would that it be soon my silvery strands, earned with my Norwegian blood
Make merry with my Polka feet

Into Saturday Night

I awakened him with a soft exhale
One that was on purpose

Long

The timing of which had nothing to do with anything
Except fate and skin and the sixth-sense that is subconsciousness

And though this was his Sunday
That blessed day of rest
Seemed unnecessary, he said

As we sank back
Into Saturday night

Feverish

Hunter

I am amazing
In hunter green sheath
I’d planned last summer
For New Year’s Eve

Silk against skin
Cut to the thigh
Your demure firework
Heels on high

Champagne celebration
It was to have been
We’d teach eachother
We’d dance again

Inky ring-fingers
Hilltop house near a glen
Belonging to each other
Forever by then

Torqued

I will gift you
Machine man, me
Eyes clear now
Future-ready
Take your Soldier hand
Study, journey with you
This trip around the Sun
We familia

I will gift you
Speed demon, victory
Bodies torqued
This skin, yours
Time trials completed
Finish line, Westward
This whispered promise
We checkered-flags

I will gift you
Sugar boy, pie
Feed you tenderly
Sing to you
In perfect pitch
Make a wish
This catch-me vision
We with lights on

Magician’s Scarf

Who each woman is

Does she smell like lavender fields

More worthy of obsession with each passing Day

Why the fabric of her dress upon her skin causes men to sing?

The Earth springs forth, as I imagine, musical notes with her every step. Yes.

Such passion must she follow, as to leave us inspired

Her smile draws from an endless-deep joy well

Words from her soul have him come hither, a pulling of magician’s scarf

Something Gardens

A sunny day

On this, the fore-edge of Spring

It looks like something good happens here

In this, the place they renamed, “Something Gardens”

Although I see really only billboards and bungalows and bulldozed-over housing projects

And strangely, no gardens

But there is the color and promise upon everyone’s skin

The special sauce in people’s blood

So I become sure

I plan to see the Something Good that happens here -those “Something Gardens” that mean to grow

So I stay and I work

I help

I sow, that someone else may reap

I wait

And I see that I, too, grow