burgundy nights

Photo by Anni Roenkae on Pexels.com
wording wondrous wreckage
imagining feasts of rhyme
and lusting after 
verse-full fancy

ty p i ng  
              t
               h
                 e 
                 
                   e
                  n
                 n
               u 
          i 

    a            w         a           y

through burgundy
written
stanzas

as 
     the 
           drama 
                         Queen 
                                     she
                       wasn’t
          meant
     to
be
   .
      .
         .
          y e t — s h e ' d   b  e  c  o  m  e
       .
    .
 .
       and
 then
   she closed
              her eyes

                 p
                  r
                  e
                  t
                e 
             n
           d
         i
      n
       g

   n o t h i n g

  h  a  d   

 e   v   e  r

h     a     p      p     e     n     e     d

H e r o i n e

Photo by Luca Nardone on Pexels.com
You hit me /
Immense high /
Dried ginger clouds
Mischievously 
Embrace me /
While I float away
I n  g o d l y
S  o  u  n  d  s  c  a  p  e /

I start
Sliding down
To viscous darkness /
Engulfing me / 
U n a w a r e /
Faintly blurring away
Y o u r  t r u e
E  x  i  s  t  e  n  c  e /

Hopelessly 
I hit
The ground /
And dive into
The murkiest
Depths
I ’ v e  e v e r
I  n  h  a  b  i  t  e  d /

Junkie dwarfs
Deftly conceal
Your
Exit 
plan /
To my blankly
S i l e n t
E  y  e  s /

I’m certain
You will
Never 
Say 
Sorry /
For those games 
Y o u
P  l  a  y  e  d /

You were Pure
Heroine /
And into
That gutter /
I do not want /
Again /
T o  fall /
W  i  l  l  i  n  g  l  y  /

One last 
Poetic killer
Card 
You hide /
As again /
Y o u   h  i  t   m  e
V  e  r  s  e - l  e  s  s  l  y /

You
A r e  n  o  w
G   o   n   e /  I  /
               A  m   n  o  w
              G   o   n   e /
B  o  t  h    b   u   t     f  a  i  n  t
S        m       o       k       e /

Of  w h a t 
W e
O  n  c  e
W  e  r  e/
            W h a t
            C o u l d /
           H   a   v   e /
           B    e    e    n /

/ I 
  Am 
  Ever
   So / 
   Sorry /
   F  o  r
             O  u  r
                        L   o   s   s / / /

P.S.

I resurrected /
That is 
The epilogue
Your literary eyes
Will 
Never
G e t  t o 
R  e  a  d /

So /
As
I start 
Combatively
Writing 
M y  
O w n
H i  s  t  o  r  y /

I stop
Mourning 
Us /
And
Become /
T h e  h e r o i n e
i n  m y  o w n
S  t  o  r   y /

I    n    s    t    e   a    d

fallen leaves

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
do you think
i should let
go now

and stop
picking up
those fallen
leaves?

i loved 
collecting
them 
for my 
vintage
album

as inspired
by that
magical
bond

i

a
l
w
a
y
s

cherished,
embraced,
yet

n
e
v
e
r

e v e r
saw
flourish,

(d i d   i
j u s t
i   m   a   g   i   n  e
i t . . .?)

the touch
of those leaves
still feels
too raw 

i  t
s   t   i  r   s
m      y
s     o     u     l
n       a       k      e      d

yet, 
I keep
hoping
for the day

i’ll see your
handsome
tree

s
t
a
n
d
i
n
g

t
a
l
l

and, 
finally,
and,
s u r e l y,

f    o    r
e      v      e      r
g    
r     
e     
e
n

nightsong (published)

Photo by Anni Roenkae on Pexels.com
i lightly caress
the tip 
of that mike

As if I was 
about to sing
your yet unwritten
silent

s
o
l
o

instrument naked—
my voice 
about to tickle 
Your well-versed skin

and enticingly 
bite on your
unsuspecting 
earlobe

A mascara tear
drops
and blurs
the mirrored image of 

our 

i
m
a
g
i
n
e
d

coexistence

the one that will never
be read aloud—
same as my solo 
will never ever get sung

it was 
your one and only
a capella kiss

yet that night 
you chose
not to 

l
i
s
t
e
n

to my naked
notes
that bleeding

nightsong