I challenge myself to write relationship pieces that don’t read too sappy-it’s not always easy (as perhaps the lover was hereš)
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Tag Archives: cheating
harvest moon secrets
Barska
Deep inside the crocodile’s dank maw,
we hid our treasure, a currency to happinessāour recompense
A thick-legged serpent with its murder’s row of razor sharp stalacites,
was to keep all predators away
We tossed paper after paper into that steel creature
Spent a lifetime saving gold to travel around the Horn of Africa
Oh, the promises sworn upon our sweating bed
witnessed from above, by a blood red moon
We were to journey by tall sail and broad sea
A pair of golden, umber eyes just below the surface followed our wake
When her reptilian curves broke the wet plain, she leaped on top
The tribal shield slid away from your body
We were to journey by sunfish sail and night sea,
but we drowned in the murky fathoms
While I was dreaming of observing crocodiles in their native habitat,
you turned into a cold-blooded reptile
I am taking what is mine, regardless of your crocodile tears,
as soon as my trembling fingers can punch the Barska keypad code
Croc
ann tagonist
tangerine dream was the boutique price she paid
for the fancy silk lace so perfectly
hanging on her collar bone like a sweet ray of sunset
luring
the fine gentleman
who had been admiring her
thin creamsicle strap and well-turned out earlobes
from which great sapphires sparkled
and cast
the faintest dulcet blue threads upon her raven hair
he was nearing her scent zone
batting his fine suit as he closed in
attempting to remove suburban wife stench
before entering this perfect circle
ann tagonist was city
nothing slow moving on those frenetic avenues
he was certain her mane of dark would accent his summer linen
her sapphires would
contrast nicely against his sinewy muscles
he was fantasizing in tangerine shades
while hidden in his secret pockets
dirty diapers, kid spittle, exhausted moments
child number three busted the duet
he was not a good tripler
two had already been too many
he madly wanted out
out of
the suburban box
he sought sweet fragrant urban freedom
without another delay
into that city circle he hustled
not freedom
but frenzy
and what man didn’t want that
ann tagonist
well, she was always ready to play a juicy role
and for his good looks
she would decidedly sparkle
sharpest woman, dullest ex
Like all the others
she rendered me dull
while making you glisten
She was sharp
cut us apart where we connected
Those polished silver nails
elegant and deadly
Her razor lips sliced into yours
no escaping that full-serrated mouth
or was there?
You shoved me to the back of the drawer
like an old butter knife
My heart she stabbed
or was that you?
My dreams are now carved from
rusted days
and infomercial nights
But I’ll regain my edge
when
she bifurcates her body from yours
and moves onto her next dinner partner
When this happens
and it will, my darling
I hope you can handle it
In a world of dime-a-dozen Ginsu
us tarnished butter knives stand steadfast and unique
stained glass girl
no one was injured in the making of this life
when does the mellifluous voice-over sing
no one was injured in the making of this life
where is he and his satin, solid chords
he guarantees I won’t expire if used correctly
you won’t void my warranty if accidentally bounced around
did I tell you
I want out of my contract
I’m old merchandise
used up
I just want to leap off this fucking shelf
land on that lovely yellow-tooth enamel floor
and beat it
far away where products get a second chance
not a shelf life – that’s so 2015
I want a new paint job
and old money
where is that guy
who can buy me shiny
now see, I’m not talkin’ diamonds
hate ’em
no gems, furs or initials like some brand burned on my ass
nope
I want pure unadulterated gifts
those
that will touch my heart
in ways
only deep can reach
so bring your old money
and your wet lust
but stay home if you’re not the real deal
I want it all
I’m used goods and my time is precious
so much more so
than those greenbacks
M’s Tears
ah, my brain is exploding and the words are vomiting, sorry…
less-guilty lovers
the moon’s giant eyes stare down
and glisten across the sheets
blue beams cut knife shapes
across our naked flesh
the sharp edges don’t slice
though we will cut apart
those we love
(rephrase for less guilt)
those we like
if love was there
neither would be here
with the moon’s foreplay
illuminating eager intentions
hoping love makes it through the window
like the silver-blue glare
otherwise
we’re just two more
selfish lovers
in a world
overcrowded
with the same
I hope this writing was a good enough excuse to use this previously published drawing – she’s one of my favorites
