Letters to Dandelion
Page 9
Cast to the fates of tomorrow,
and soothed by the spance of the sky.
Between their broad shoulders,
only the memory of you will lie.
Known only by us, until the day that we die.
Maybe someday, again, we may try.
But until that day,
My thoughts and my prays,
are soaring on the wings of goodbye.
Vapors of Lace.
It’s through these
Vapors of Lace,
drifting through
my mind –
That which might
trace –
those eclectic,
electric, sexy
times of expecting
and receiving her
Love.
Anticipation,
fucked me up
when I’d have
to wait.
All I could see
- was her.
When she walked,
when she danced,
- before me,
Or, inclined her ear
for a moment to
really listen to what
I had to say.
Everything,
always seemed so
colorful, when she
was near me.
Soft lit candles –
haloed effects,
I remember,
of her soft, supple skin,
moist eyes,
licorice lips
and undeniable tongue.
We made love in Heaven’s
front yard for a little while,
as vapors of lace,
and the smudged haze
of the colors of the spectrum,
seemed to dance all about our
naked skin.
I’m such as horrible writer.
truly,
As I could never –
fully have you, oh Reader,
just to understand,
What was in my hands.
My path of life, crossed one
of the pillars of Womanhood.
of Seduction,
of Arousal,
of Induced Passions.
And I couldn’t handle it.
So, much so, I am in confusion
and at a loss of words.
Beware the Vapors of Lace,
something so sheer, yet,
once used to bind
Sampson himself.
Are all women wound with the
same chords of bondage?
This one was.
In the throes of intercourse
with two other women, she
was the absolute Star.
My heart sifts like powder,
through my loss of her,
as my desires, flare and
chaffs like the scrape of lace.
If only she were a really a vapor,
so I could not remember,
but my mind is so strong,
as to what seemed to be our bond.
The sun set on the candle flame
(And blew it out ...)
This day.
In a way,
where
I knew it wouldn’t re-light.
No matter how hard I tried,
the light had expired,
from the sight of my eyes,
causing a darkness which
drew peace of mind, to its
murky fate.
The smoke from the candle
would undulate,
in curly wisps like
the ghosts of something
which once held life –
Now a cold apparitional
reminder of warmth
of heart.
The flame had burned bright
for a while,
and created a light so
heavenly and warm
that it felt like love.
With enough force to
evenly consume the
wax
In a way where the soft
bubbly puddle, spilled in
a minute tear down the side.
Now, without a ray of hope,
it overflowed in a cavalcade
of sadness.
All the luminescence needed
was a brightener, that glass
bell of security,
to restrict the air completely
and keep the bouncing flame
stable it its unity with destiny.
But, fates are usually cruel.
And, no one really seems
to miss, the light from a
tiny insignificant candle –
as it burns out, in a sea of
other candles producing
vision.
Naught though you might
peer deeper, to feel the focus
of one tiny story?
As, what this candle felt,
was its own moment of
glory,
At its own time of function,
under the pecan sun.
It had desires like the many,
and with pride felt its burn atop its
steeple, while still surrounded
by people, to keep that flame
burning bright, even and especially
just for
one.
But, now it’s gone –
And the flame has fizzled.
Does the candle cry, as it’s
flame dies?
--
I think you know the answer,
just from seeing.
Feeling the chill of the lacking
warmth, a specter now of the soul,
and nothing but cold by the missing
love of the gold.
I miss that candle so -
And I’m truly in the dark without it.
Breeze
So welcomed when it’s hot,
and it goes by so fast –
That you have to raise
your arms and close your
eyes to form an instant
smile as it travels lovingly
through.
Soothing against your sweaty
face, chillingly upon your
neck and cold against your
arm pits.
We all welcome the breeze,
on a hot day of work and
then, just as it arose
it flies away.
Draining that humbly
enjoyable experience
and plunging us all back
under the influence of
the unforgiving sun.
Some inquisitive minds
like me, often wonder,
where it went,
why it came at that
particular moment –
And, most importantly,
what was it all about in
the first place.
Could I be so lucky –
to feel such a touch?
As when it was such
in need?
It’s no secret,
to say that we all love
a good breeze.
And just like the wind,
a chance meeting of
someone such as yourself,
is just as cherished,
is just as inspired,
is just as refreshing,
and just as missed.
With the same outcome
of wondering.
Just what was that
all about?
Kristi – I miss your beautiful face,
your smile, and your melting kisses.
I’m sorry – but you have the power to forgive me, and allow me to be
a human being
with the faults
that I never tried
to hide,.
Are you a breeze?
Light and easily caressing?
Or are you’re a typhoon?
Harsh and punishingly
judgmenta
l?
Even so –
I miss you
just the same.
Vain
I waited
anticipated
in vain,
for a chance
to tell her who
I was.
Timing is everything
and the time just never
was on my side,
because my insides
throbbed, every time
I wished to speak,
but was told about her
past relationships,
desires to do porn
and other things that
just couldn’t add up.
I called her a Princess,
because, she spoke
like one, looked like
one and is one,
just one who had the
wrong knights in her
life,
which led to nights
such as these.
While on the other
side of the world, my
life spiraled in the
whirlpool way that it
always had.
I drowned a little in
her words and her eyes
and her smile and her
kisses. I felt the sun
for a second in her
touch and her promises,
Then I saw the storm in
the inevitable end.
How some trips are
better off not taken.
Where the end is revealed
in a parallel not seen, and
a pain to the chest
of the broken.
I watched her walk away,
in the dark, like a struck
match with fire of her
hair.
Spewing lies about my
intentions and after
insulting my whole persona.
I struck back, but I shouldn’t
have. The writer in me with
the sharpen words is always
too eager to hurt and then
the soft words are ignored.
Nothing will fix or save this,
I guess.
Nothing can clean this mess,
of this beautiful woman, who
came and went, like a shadow.
I’m just typing, and realizing,
my loss, but I knew I was in
the wrong basket anyway.
It may sound confusing, because
I am confused, but no one cares
about my thoughts.
I just wish she knew, that I didn’t
start that night off, to end it
that way.
I just wish she knew, how beautiful
she is, and how much I wanted
to reveal the good sides of who I
am.
Anything good is wrapped in tough
protective covering, and that cover
gets dirty, torn, beaten, but it
protects the good, until it is opened.
I can’t type a ladder of words back
to that night, or that moment, or
back to her arms.
My powers are limited only to the
next day, and in clarity to say,
I’m sorry, but sorry is a lonely
word.
Her heart was turned off from me
long ago I feel.
I wanted just to either rediscover,
of end things civil.
I don’t think you will read this.
But, Karma knows … I tried.
The Whites of Her Eyes …
I’m not going to look, or seek, or search.
The doors to my heart will eventually close.
The energy of my desire will turn –
as will my focus sharpen towards inner goals.
As someone told me –
“Let the bird land upon your finger.”
Others have said –
“Things happen when you least expect.”
I’ve even written about chasing a bubble,
and have told God himself,
He can not condemn me for something
he is not willing to help me with.
I was born with an uncanny birth defect –
That I have no beating heart at all.
Why?
Oh, how sad !
And all types of simpatico bullshit you
might say –
But, if you didn’t know me,
you might call me an insensitive monster,
or cursed, or worse.
But, it’s better you don’t know me.
There’s less for you to judge.
And, even less for me to say.
Practically nothing for me to care about,
based upon your reaction.
No opinion which to sway.
I may be missing something,
I disagree.
So many swear they are happy –
But, I challenge that equation based on reality.
It’s a bold, cold statement, this is true, but feelings
in medical terms are an equation to an apparition.
I previously mentioned, the Hole in my Pocket
before I even had jeans.
What an invention, as it has
allowed me to lose a lot of
baggage, and only hold on
to what I need.
So, I live by the basics, and
what can fill my cupped hands.
I like it planned.
Though some laugh, and joke
and don’t agree, the last laugh
is eventually with me.
Now things are streamlined,
and I’m doing well.
My toughest decision is:
what to have for dinner,
or what to wear on any
given someday.
I’ve danced my way, out of Hell.
And I answer to no one.
So why fuck that up?
Anymore, I won’t fire my
love and desire, until I
can completely agree –
That I am as close as a
dangling eyelash, glued
to:
The whites of her eyes.
Big Fat Lie
A tall, beautiful Woman, told me,
that the way a man thinks to screw
me, is to demean me, and be mean
to me - - to obtain me.
And I told her, that that was a Big Fat Lie.
From the pit of Hell.
From the mouth of the Devil himself.
But, why do so many Women believe,
the childish actions and silly prattle of
little boys at play?
I do apologize is my standing, and I
know, in some cases, it would seem
boring for a Man to always be pining
for a beautiful Woman to be his own.
See, I have written pounds of words on
this subject, and here’s another attempt
to eventually get it right.
Women are the flowers of the Earth.
The living art that inspires art.
The motivation behind, many, if not
everything.
Man, is a by product of the World.
His arms are forged of wood,
his mind a vortex of ocean current, and
fire, with a desire to match, -- yet,
yielding moments of soft falling snow,
for someone he loves.
Men are a mix of what is necessary to
run, walk, pause, stop, sprint, and leap,
fight, retreat, and come back against
to brave the rigors of the world that
birthed him.
The world breeds warriors, and nothing else.
Women are the piece of him, which is missing.
And that he misses.
And no matter where he is, as she appears,
he’ll stop everything to obtain her.
Women are the beauty, he’ll - NEVER BE.
The softness he can not make in a lab,
or the shape he can not hammer out in steal.
She is the thoughts he can not conjure,
or the desire he can’t control.
She is the reason he will march to his death,
he will dive deep in debt,
he will rise from the ashes like a Phoenix,
he will cry for in the night like a baby,
he will conquer, kill and scheme and plan,
until he can be assured, that he is her man.
So, Women, please, don’t believe the big fat lie.
Any boy, who treats you bad, there is a little monkey
small and sad, inside his pants, trying and dying to be
your Gorilla.
Again, I feel I am falling short on this subject.
So, as long as I live, and as long as there is
a beautiful Woman who might lend her ear?
then let her hear –
No matter what has happened,
no matter who has hurt you?
no matter what you have lost,
no matter what has been said to you,
no matter what has been physically done to you,
no matter what you have lost,
no matter what you have done,
no matter what you will do,
no matter what pain you’ve endured,
no matter how bad you feel,
YOU are a Woman.
YOU are the portal to another soul and
no Man can do that.
You are a Mother, your children feed off of your