New poems

Afterimage

His smile burns in my mind like
the still frame of a bedroom
the moment after my finger
compels the lightswitch to
administer electricity and
exceeds the filaments expectations.
His smile remains behind
the darkness of my
closed eyes.


The Dish Best Served

I carefully place on the hook next to the oven
The warm, dry skillet with the silver handle
Once used for dinner's chewy pork chops and
Greasy hamburgers, but now makes more
Delectible dishes since the back of his head
Left the dent, near right in the center and
I no longer burn his Sunday bacon, but
Instead enjoy my own omelette mornings and
Risotto nights.

The Proposal

(loosely based on the Mark and Kate story) can you tell I'm in a romantic mood lately?


Marry me. No. Marry me. No. What do you want? You. Then marry me. I won’t. Tell me why. Because I want to make love to you when we’re sixty. But we will. I want to surprise each other with little things. We always will. A piece of paper doesn’t guarantee that. Then what does it matter? Exactly my point. I want you forever. And if we’re still happy in fifty years. Why wouldn’t we be happy? Two people should be together because they want to be. Don’t you want to be with me? Because they want to be. Marry me. Not because they have to be. We’re not your parents. I won’t marry you. I’m not your father. I want to want you forever. I love you. I want romance. What’s a wedding? Not a day, I want a life. Do you want to marry me? The day that you don’t want to marry me- Never. The day that we don’t want to marry each other- Stop. Is the day we should both walk away.

Promise candlelit baths.
Promise notes on the pillow.
Promise strawberries.
Promise his hands.
Promise the small of her back.
Promise whispers.
Promise forever.