What it’s like

I digress
and she smiles

I love her
but she knows
that I need to explain

That explanation
is what makes my love

I offer myself
an answer
to a constant question

What is it like
to be in love?


Meal for one

It’s a slow burn
but the result is still blackened
still uncomfortable
at the dinner table
some three years down the line

There’s an obligation
to compliment the chef
an obligation
to lift up a lie
well done

Cloudy with a chance of roses

Petals on the pavement
in my mind at least
they weren’t there
when I left
weren’t there
because I didn’t see them

I’d like to imagine
a funny sort of storm
rolled over this half-block
in my absence
a leisurely deluge
that smelled so sweet
by any name

the sort of thing
that needs to be willed
into existence
that needs to be
because the alternative
is bland

Or at best
a jilted lover
beating the jiltee
with a bouquet
that tragicomic combo
only a spectator could enjoy

I’d have liked to be there
either way
I’d like to have watched
as perfumed clouds broke
petals falling down
from on high
rosy rain