It had always begun the same,
innocent enough,
it began with coffee.
Before you knew it
innocent strolls,
sidewalk banter and office breaks.
Office breaks turned
to confessions,
of love over lunch
Peruvian Chicken with steamed rice.
The chicken was good,
but the love was served too late.
It had made us sick
All of us, even
the ones not invited to lunch.
He was September cool.
We ate peaches. French music played in the background, and a car door slammed.
The Soundtrack to an evening with the man in the red tie.
I rubbed my hands over the pockets of his dark leather vest and straightened his red tie- from left to right to tighten it.
Lastly, I ran my fingers through his coarse Turkish hair fixating on the silver at his temples.
We told stories of kindred love. Or, at least, I did and he went along with it.
Flirtatious illusions like bullets moving clean through him and he was sweating.
I awoke to the train. Alone, in a blank hotel room. A single black cord held the light from the ceiling. It swayed like a ticking clock.
And nothing else, but the memory of a man walking away.
In the morning, I walked to the spot where we had met, inhaled the past,
held it in my lungs: cigarette smoke, musk, and hints of whiskey shots,
got high on the story I created in our drunken romance.
Who is to say it wasn’t love? A small momentary speck of love?
No one can say anything.
What hands you have.
What touch.
When I dream of your
hands
I miss you,
but awake,
not much.
Itchi, teachi, talki
too
be me, be me, be me,
you, you, you,
are only,
hands.
Massage, memory,
ex-person,
ideal
failed-
What hands you have
woman!
My GOD!
Your touch,
if only,
you didn’t want
love so much,
your hands,
your hands,
those were what
I missed,
not your heart,
not your love,
not your kiss,
nothing
but
those beautiful
hands.
I wish I had married him.
But-
I wanted to find the ways
to love myself
without his help…
The Bend in The Road
Let’s try this again.
I’ll meet you at the bend.
There will be roses and
other flowers in bloom.
The dust will be high,
to challenge the mood,
maybe, we’ll have smoke
or a thick misty fog
something for drama to
build the suspense.
I’ll stand in the road
you stand at the fence
both are at the bend in the road.
The scent of the roses
will hit first
and memories of walks
and talks and passion
will return
“oh, I remember the
park when we laid in
the grass.”
“I remember the
rain as it fell
on our heads.”
“The smell of the
douglas trees in the woods.”
At the bend in the road
when the dust settles
the mist blows away
and the smoke dissipates
We will see each other
standing as we promised.
You will know me but
I wont know you.
I had two loves
both walked away
commitments not meant for me.
Who was the real one
I never can say
but one will show
at the bend in the street.
I wanted you most
to be by my side
but it’s the one with
the courage that decides to arrive.
I don’t know you
but you know me
and its at the bend in the road
where we finally meet.
A Chatoyant Fleck 