Rain Stains On The Pavement

lately seems to be taking forever
the rain is staining the pavement
with puddles a glistening glaze
of reflection on the hazy panes
of glass on the building's window eyes
and cars that idle by
the street-side cafe through this winter
that's laden with more evenings than days
because the grey cloudy skies don't subside
and as they're ever rolling in not a trickle
of sunlight does shine or peek
and as much as I'm enjoying the season
I know that ray of hope is all I'm seeking

The Flicker Of The Interior Light Last Night

do I mistake for shy
your nature when you're just hung up on a guy
the interior light flickers when I get in
to the car and let's me only a glimpse of your eyes

we arrive to the alley
only to have to stand in a long line and wait
contemplating staying or are good times up ahead
a bitter wind chill makes us writhe, thinking of a warm bed

out to you I'll extend
my arms lending you my jacket under the pretense
of keeping you warm but I'm actually trying to mend
your exposed flesh and bones from his scorn

would I miscalculate
if I thought your quiet: the equation of enduring lies
though you plaster a smile and dance all the while
I think behind your pretty facade you're hiding

how's romance treating you
I'll inquire when the music dies to enough of a silence
trying to reach through this tired, old night
to see if you feel as beat as I do

we'll have spent the evening
amongst all these strangers of people; neglecting
our thoughts of our others drinking and forgetting
then we'll get back in the back seat; sobering up

and I'll wonder
what you were thinking between the flicker
of that interior light as I slid into the car drunk
were you as I; pondering your love's posterior

Tattoo

you were never what I wanted
I'm tattooing resignation on my chest
to remind myself every day
what it is that I'm known for best

and underneath my breast
I'll draw blood and ink of the names
of the list of loves I can't forget
and notch them up as pain I claim

when each next love reads the chart
of loss and regret that drips down from my heart
they'll be inclined to imagine if they'll be next
and if they're smart or know me they'll be correct

what I know I want I will not tattoo
there's no need when in my mind I daily pursue
with progression to overcoming what I can't have
knowing each new blemishing - part of the ode I do

Love Is Lack Of Reason

love is lack of reason
you explained in the beer garden
not that it has no reasons
but needs no reasoning

to my intellect displeasing
was the thought simple as that
but to my heart it's fact
and truth I desire to exact

I told to a friend this truth
that to me it's understanding's aloof
but finding it's my life's pursuit
and asked her of it if she knew

she puzzled over it a minute
then smiling, determined like this
'there'll be a moment you'll know'
you'll just know was all she'd insist

in reflection of both conversations
I elected love's not an initiation
perhaps it's of it's own creation
instigating in us a sanction with no rules or limitations

Distraction For Lack Of You

upon waking each morning I try to wash away the pain
the visions of my night terrors keep me from sleeping in late
before getting ready for the day I've a ritual of cleansing
I cannot dress or make breakfast without a self-confession

my memory's like the mirror, when just out of the shower
the glass fogged up; all hot and wet, blurring what I see
during drying my mind's invaded by hindsight's disease
the bathroom door won't open for all the steam has seized it

after a time the mist subsides and I finally pry away
of late I've developed distractions to keep busy at a little cafe
I sit and sip and wonder if this is all the romance I've left
biding time and waiting at this place with coffee and cigarettes

as dawn rises all around me bringing with it a bustling scene
people and their lives and well trod daily routines
for all failed attempts I still keep thinking of what might've been
if with patience I'd stood by you what prominence love would seem

I've changed my job and my friends and keep working on me
trying to keep our paths separate and let you be happy
but it's not the same alone, and it's not they're bad company
just that in everyone I meet's being now, I know that it's you I seek

Friends

my friends are an empty promise
thoughts and energy of endless loss
I ought to learn each time how it costs
to be true and honest with them

they take for granted my attention
I'm a ticking time bomb of tolerance
the explosion of unspoken tension
could erode us without a mention

but as always I fold, refusing to be cold
intervention as best course for prevention
I implement discretion and turn up my frown
silently knowing the stakes of our friendship

You Is Not Me

lending is not giving
intending is not living
defending is not insisting
pretending is not persisting

I'm okay is not I'm good
you could is not you would
you saw is not you look
being there is not you understood

alone is not together
now is not forever
emotions are not clever
sometimes is not never

time is not a healer
a kiss is not a seal
broken is not complete
patience is not defeat

Love Is A Loaded Gun

take caution when falling in love
be aware you're loading a gun
armed; you might reap what you sow
with ammunition of time and moments
bullets packed in a full magazine
knowing exactly what this crime deems
potential to blow to smithereens
all relations, chances and dreams
aimed correctly it evokes a fear
turns everything cloudy from clear
the click of the hammer will question
what pulling the trigger might reckon
knowing the damage of the calibre beckons
true love's future lies in less than second

The Bubble Must Pop

I got that feeling you were mine, then you said the bubble must pop
I'm glad you swapped your shift but wish our time didn't have to stop

only one moment with Stars, in an evening all too quick ending
still so much in my head and yours, so many thoughts left unattended

did I dream of you and I like this or was it always something pending
no matter, it still unfolded and I'm sure you got the message I was sending

over coffee now after dropping you home I sit; tending thoughts and smoking
going over and again everything said and done, filled with wonder and growing alone

The Irony Of Silence On Coupled Life

every word we spoke dripped like a slow leak into a sink
until it overflowed into a churning ocean of inspiration and wonder
your laugh cracked like thunder, your smile lit up like lightning
in a storm of conversation that drowned us in confirmation
that it was safe to let the rain pour and flood friendship's limitations
between you and I - minds submarines; plunge deep into each other

the irony being: two souls; rivers running parallel to love's sea
both with romantic exclusivity that destines us friends forever guilty
of caged but fathomed notions stacked from our heart's floors to ceilings
it wouldn't matter these moments even if packed into awareness of our feelings
for all significance they'd never trigger interest or our spiritual cloning
a muse and mind taker neither of us can find but wondering and hoping

Memories Are What We Live To Leave

for the sum of life; memories are all we can trust to remain
what left when we're dead is there for any to gain
in our minds we bundle all our care and our pain
hold close the saints, repress the devils; over the years change their shapes
patiently await time's train to depart the station
and watch it get farther away as we try to manage each day

I once took a love to the top of the world
she was by far the saddest, most pretty little girl
we looked down on the city and I watched her eyes as it hit her
that between our sights was combined all we knew there's to live for

with our homes glowing below us and not wanting to leave
we agreed there was a freedom in being up there that evening
we made a solemn pact to come back soon and remember the truth
that all that mattered that day was the love between us we knew

running our course some months passed and we came to bust up
my love told me me that I wasn't and would never be enough
she claimed feeling chained at her feet to me, like a prisoner waiting death's call
so, now said and done I go to Sky High and try to remember it all

a fear grips me sitting; drinking coffee from the mountain top view
that - though a certain truth then and there I knew her- the feeling of her love I would lose
I tried writing at the time what she meant for my life and to me
but reading the words now I find they don't mean anything
except she was just another girl who was swimming through my head
then got caught in a rip and sunk through my memory to the sandy seabed

True Love Waits On Blind Dates

dressed to impress in leather boots slipped over jeans - stitching aligned
with seams running her long legs past her knees to dark seductive blue thighs
she takes to the pavement struts by and sighs, brushes her wet hair from her eyes
drags on a cigarette and a wisp of hot breathe leaves her pink luscious lips
it sits for a second then floats slowly in the mist towards the drizzling grey sky

she takes a seat at the cafe they'd agreed to make their meeting place
ignoring the menu explores the setting for a similarly curious face
she tries to hide her awkwardness by checking her watch, noting the time
excusing him for running a little behind, she tells herself the wait won't be long
but it's itching in her conscience; what let down she's instigated with her promptness

over an hour alone next to an ashtray she built a tower with lipstick stained filters
now it lays the smoking butts of remains of her patience and tired hopeless chances
her time wasted creating scenarios of how this first date may play out
how much of herself she should say then debating interest in him dissolving into doubt

disappointment instilled; she requests the bill for the glass of red she's already twice filled
relieved though annoyed at the taxing anticipation; gathers herself, gets up and leaves
along roads, quick-stepping through unrelenting rain, she hates how romance is always this way
and asks herself desperately why she can't seem to find a nice, genuine kind of guy
getting into her car she pauses to consider; is it plausible to know love as a most of all
then cries a tear for how long she's been trying to find one who's true to let herself fall for

My Nights Out Are A Growing Doubt

I listen to ladies pine talk of their ideal thin indie boys
it's so hard to win them over and I can't stand feeling so jealous
I don't have that instigating glance or eye catching style of dress
my look's less ragged, more man, more made of a million dollars

friends leave me standing at the women's toilet block entrance
leaning on the wall I scour the dancefloor and begin doubting my chances
with these girls who're all taken and I can't help but feel mistaken
for choosing these nights to exploit endless plights of budding romance

being in this place dancing and drinking's got me wistfully thinking
I don't want to be alone but what use is the company when I know
they're not inclined to me or slightly interested in me taking them home
needing a cigarette I slip into the courtyard and pull out my phone

I stand huddled; smoke in the rain, check the time and see the hour is late
I debate back and forth should I leave or stay and what will eventuate
I put it down to being out here amidst all the antics and frantic romance
I search for answers in the tired faces and sigh at all the heart I've wasted
the echo in my head says, as it does every week; that true love can't be persuaded
it must be made and you've got to grab it even when you think it's about to be taken

Your Embrace

remember the other day, you held your arms out wide in embrace
you asked me for a hug with your face falling a look I couldn't refuse
in fact at your requesting I wish I had mentioned this sooner
a similar thought had crossed my perspective through my brooding
as the only intervention for our vague communicating of late

I didn't ask at the time but it was still a question on my mind last night
do I ever make your thoughts or do you think of what might have been
as you can look back now from outside how major do I seem
can we be explained away with context of innocence when you dream
I'm plagued by curiosity, was I proof to yourself of what not to keep

love is a liquid that once filled me to the brim and now slowly seeps
from all my pores and as it escapes it gnaws on my finger and toe tips
we had a map and an x marked spot but for all digging couldn't find the treasure
when saying goodbye and farewell, letting go is painful yet still a pleasure
satisfaction in closure to every moment of my soul that you'll own forever

you cannot buy love, but you can borrow it

she sees in his eyes a lucid lust for them young and pretty
she hates them for being nothing but everything she'll never be
and herself for wishing retrospectively that was her years ago
she realises uncomfortably that's the feeling she's trying to know
her thoughts echo of wonders fading to herself why she allows
time for the lies and his frivolous fancies to get her so tied down
he no longer looks at her as closely with nearly as much intent
he's so pent up with hope and her once vast tolerance is spent
for all this though in the end she relents to letting him take her home
absolution through action he's a Eucharist cup filled with desire to own
she's an old flame claiming the same safety of his staying over
as he slips between the sheets she contemplates the other kind of being alone
it's either company or companionship so over nothing she takes the superficial
she hides from the truth of the issue behind his imaginative kisses
puts her melancholy of the next morning down to his dismissing
of any completing feeling that she might neatly instill when they're entwined
as he sighs and says sorry you're not the one she can read the glaze of his eyes
held steady to convey the future it's the only truth she wishes were a lie
she cries puddles into the pillows and asks him to hold her so he knows
that though she's not his and he not hers she just needs a soul to borrow

my home was a broken heart

a broken heart
was my home
with locked doors
and boarded windows
that I hoped
you'd break into.

I waited...
I prayed..
that you'd ravage the contents
throw away all the sorrows

as hours turned to days
I'd take you a squatter
..whatever
even barely surviving
I'd like it you just
with inhabitance take pride in
restoring it to life

..paint the walls
...grout the tiles
tidy shelves
give it your time

however, you turned out
an invitee without love and care
borrowing my company
but keeping yours
not sharing anything
you might've had to give

I whisper, 'hello?'
and the echo returns alone
the tone rolls off my tongue
like a ruined and void drone

in the emptiness
a tap drips slow tears
knowing all I want
is you
for just a little while
to live here

The Aquisition Of Manliness

One night, after coffee and conversation where we'd outlined falling in love; as brethren three of us walked in the dark to a quiet backstreet park. Behind residential apartment buildings we smoked for the sake of living. We sat and discussed the past - retrospecting our respective paths, and laughed at how coincidentally we'd stumbled upon a truth at last.

We realised the journey undertaken and that we all knew it wasn't over, but at that moment it was worthy our noting of how we'd all grown into men. Each wiser and older of our own accord we vocalised and brought forth a vision. Now clear through hindsight to see how over time our lives interweaved. Though we'd missed each other by distance and circumstance we were pleased that for all our travels we were unraveled together - to three men young and free. With corresponding awareness we'd pursued the acquisition of manliness fervently.

Love Is Saying Sorry

you told me with cold tone
that love was saying sorry
I replied as I felt
that I'm all spent for apology
if all you're seeking
is for me to accept blame
you'll be sourly disappointed
when I've nothing to claim
this is the same story over again
you're trying to mend
what cannot be glued
there is no adhesion
for our now historic feud
I'm the white flag that flies
signifying giving up trying
I'm wavering in the breeze
I'm saying thank you, not please

the cold kiss of your shoulder

you leaned forward and kissed me in the moment
then claimed it was the heat of it or the copious alcohol
you quickly blamed the safety of the nature of us
saying it was nothing, simply for it's sake alone

when with true intentions I tried to kiss you back
though sweet, you turned in haste from any kindness
my lips hit your shoulder, burning cold brushed me aside
and you laughed, spinning playfully away

I watched with desire as you danced deviously
revealing in recoil your heart hard as stone
it had led mine blindly, mischievously to capture
severing it's perspective with your confusing tone

clouds of doubt.

Unsettled, his gaze found the grey clouds surrounding the frame of the train's carriage window. Outbound from the city, it hit him that he'd allowed the storm to roll in without bringing an umbrella to shelter him from the acid rain that began pouring from clouds of doubt that had formed from the vapour of a lake of the day's events.

Walking to the station he'd tried irrigation, in attempt to disperse the small ocean of hurts that had emerged from the earth in a quake of distaste. They'd exploded and flowed into a crater the shape of hate. Like most natural disasters it wasn't forecasted and at it's dawning he'd underestimated it's lasting such a long time.

It was a hurricane of feeling; sweeping him from his feet, dropping him in a wilderness unfamiliar. Proceeding with these new surroundings he explored, trying to find a way out. Every corner looked the same and the names of the street signs were all moments in time that he remembered with her. And though she'd severed all ties that afternoon he didn't think that he'd be so lost, so sudden. So soon.

Your Kiss Insists

My mind is a weathered street sign. It is intention reached an intersection. To one side; the world falls away, unknowing what I'll find. The other climbs to your face and mine together. The sky shines; enticing me to drive towards that path and intermittent lay over at your brain, before a corrugated road continues straight on - aiming and praying that at it's end there's still a vacancy. That it's not filled with artifacts of the past. That it ends with clear entrance to your open heart.

Every time your lips take mine with insistent desire; I decide I'll try to let my emotions keep from seeping out or creeping high. But with firm, pressed tongues together and chests touching, if I were to confess I wanted anything less than heartfelt connection I'd be electing self-deception and telling a lie. I don't want to meet your mouth as a hitch-hiker or vagabond. I want to roar through the twines of the road; to feel the passion ascending, growing strong.

The longer this kiss lingers, time stops for us and the world discontinues. Congruous lips as a ship drift slowly towards the invitation of the port's opening. As it gets closer I'm consumed with a hope all too becoming. I sight it from the light tower and lavishly my heart's beacon flashes, trying to guide you to my harbour safely. I want to dock you and unload you; get to know you and your secret cargo. I want to be part of the crew.

I want to be a pirate and overrun you. Climb aboard and take you over. Make you mine and our every kiss a sail for this seaborn ship, hoisted to pick up the wind, destined towards the horizon set for an ocean of love leaving behind the shore. If it sinks or comes claim to storm, we can both go down knowing for sure that we tried our best and plotted with a sincere and honest ploy to take on the sea of you and I.

Heed so: if we come to capsizing ruin, let us drown in each other; gasping for final breaths as our lungs fill all up with dutiful death. Let us revel, take pleasure in submitting freely to saline love.

The Final Straw

sex is the final straw
when you realise you should withdraw
you try to explain it away as mistake
saying you can't sustain any longer
so, coldly you choose to ignore your feelings
of intrigue and attraction that once made you so sure


the moment was not enough to remember
at least as pleasant and you can't take it as relevant
or appropriate given the context
why's it that something as giving as sex
can extract this quickly from your conscience
these bizarre new facts and intents
that leave me stressed and grieving


everything dissolves as my thoughts unfold
you speak with the voice of a therapist
but react like a patient at the clap of a hypnotist
awakening with a different vision


what opened with a kiss and closed in closeness
you won't see as beautiful even if I choose to
instead you can only see it and yourself as broken
and all that leaves me is alone