Second Confession

Almost itch
pen scratched
lovely love lie
waited words
open wound



Summer slipped fall
that period
tacked on each return
leaves rendered
in visible ink

It might be our season
remembered time
spent orbiting
an all too distant sun
lousy still with light


Against my will
you well
loss stoppered name
another tour

Stuck on you
joke of space
and the times
our words came true

Made masochist
in love’s image
bytes partitioned
till sun breaks

We’ll find each other
as often as we like
a play
of hopes and fears

The Happy Ending

If you want half
they’re all yours
as am I
three little words
to wake your smile
and a kiss
from this would-be prince

Better the memories
before the bitter
sours the sweet
three little words
to remember
if ever you should need
to be loved

Fresh Squoze Stone

Effort concerted
to make you jealous
all of my time
and none of my attention

You I love
reread it all you want
content your heart
with these rewrites

We’re left with what
will be on you
truth tailored
to tell a tale tall