What Might Have Been

Black lace shadows my skin as we lay next to each other--
Two strangers who missed the other before we were known
Your hands find their way to the curve of my hip
You stroke and slide your warm fingers
I rock my hips, an unconscious movement
And though I loved you as you once loved me,
I fall asleep until I am one of a twin shadow curled in bed
Today, clothed in black lace again,
I remember the rock of my hips
And wonder what might have been

Because

Because I love you, the world is round
Like a bright pink ball
Because I love you, the world is flat
Like bread that never had a chance to rise

Because I love you, I write this poem
A poem telling of my love
Because I love you, I write this poem
A poem telling of your indifference

Because I love you, I love you anyway

Leaving

It's Saturday, 6 a.m., and I creep out of bed, trying not to disturb you
I can't wait to leave
I have nowhere else to be, and a two hour drive ahead of me

I'm still warm from your body heat though it's fading in the dawning light
And my clothes smell of the spiciness of your skin

But if I leave now, before you wake,
I won't have o say good-bye
And know it is forever.

Slowly Drowning

The baby's in the bathtub
And the water is rising
Where is Daddy?

Daddy, come back
Aren't I worth your attention?
Aren't I more important than the voices in your head?

Fighting, always fighting,
Until there's no light behind the eyes.

Real Love

I feel like I haven't seen you in several years even though the letters I write to you keep you in my thoughts
My sprawling language caresses the page as I can not caress you, yet my tongue shapes words meant for you
South Center Street is a state of mind when thoughts digress to images of your cat eyes, sleepy and wanting--but maybe that's just me
I will grow old and wrinkle without you, like the spin of a blender--going in aimless circles until the plug is pulled
But you, you do not spin your wheels, creating only mud--joyful but dirty
The sari she wears speaks of your devotion to a love that never existed for me
And Washington D.C. is too full of potential for a small town girl like me
But I'll write you my letters because it's the only way I can keep you--in a house down the lane from real love

Elusive, Love

That moon, so bright, so far
Do you exist, love?
Have I created you from clay,
A half smile, crooked in my naked arms?

Is there a point to hope,
A hope to point to, or only
A moon to gaze upon?
Debating on a face...
Yours is elusive,

So elusive, you, love...
Yours, it's the face of the moon.