Perfection is a Myth

Like me, she knows perfection is a myth
and yet we love each other without guile
Of all the “perfect” women I’ve been with
I’d trade them all to see my Lover’s smile
I love it when she laughs, but she can cry
There’s laughter and there’s tears in every life
We have no expectations, but we try
to help each other overcome all strife
We also share the happiness of joy
I like to share successes with my friend
I’m glad my friend and I are girl-and-boy
Our kisses make us warm and help us mend
our hearts, if they are broken, bruised, or cracked.
Since I’ve known her, my kisses haven’t lacked.

Monica’s Eyes

Your eyes have seen my eyes and I am sure
you knew what you were seeing when they met
My thoughts, reflected thus, weren’t always pure
I still remember yours; I can’t forget
the way you watched me walk toward you one night
and how the lighting shined so I could see
your eyes from where I was, within your sight
and how your eyes saw nothing else but me
I saw you blink and then I saw you smile
I smiled back and wondered if your blink
included me. I hoped you liked my style
Although I won’t admit, you made me think
that you were well aware of what I thought
and only blinked because I had been caught.

Past is Past

Each night before I sleep I hear your voice
and wish that I could feel your spoken breath
Imagination fills the lesser choice
for now. My second life began with death
I still remember life before I died
I knew you in my first life, missed the chance
For that it was a waste; I should have tried
to be your lover when my circumstance
consisted of my body in your car
consisted of your car outside my place
the night we touched in slow-dance at the bar
the night you longed for more than my embrace
The past is past; my second life is this:
fullfilment of my chances, like your kiss.

Inspired by Denise Wilsey

She gave me Prufrock; made me eat it whole
With her it seemed like poets played a game
When I composed; she knew I’d sold my soul
And still she had the guts to call my name
We listened to the Irish lyricise
the English language. Bono and The Edge
performed the duty, like an exercise
then sang and danced while standing on the ledge
We thought they’d fall like many had before
she questioned why we listened to the band
I climbed a staircase to an open door
and made damn sure I held so I could stand
I stood and watched the muses come and go
They gave me lines to write from down below

Gypsy Beach

From Gypsy Beach we’d swim across the lake
Then back toward the park, the grassy field
When I return to Syracuse I’ll make
a pilgrimage to where we once concealed
our bodies in the darkness, on the grass
near Gypsy Beach, my appetite became
the hunger for a handful of your ass!
We watched the moon and stars; we felt no shame
The parking lot was empty, but one car
turned off the road, for what? His lights were on
We held each other still. My god, you are
the place I’d love to hide all night ’til dawn
At Gypsy Beach our wetsuits kept us warm
but only when we swam; that was the norm.

Loving Mari

She’s seen me next to dead and I’ve seen her
more beautiful than vibrancy in Spring
When life is love all problems are obscure
If Mari is a song, I want to sing
She gave me “Love Forever,” now I know
Forever is a feeling not a time
I love her love and hope that I can show
my love for her in more than simple rhyme
We share a bond transcending life and death
I’ve never felt more spiritual than now
Eternity exists in every breath
like “Love Forever,” each a solemn vow
I’ll breathe my love forever if I must
to give my Mari something she can trust.

For Beauty

I miss the raw salaciousness she’d share
I loved her sensuality, divine
If we were still together, I’d be there
If I could change my past she’d still be mine
The future dissipated when I fell
and broke my body; broke my mind, my brain
If Beautiful would listen, I would tell
her my regret and how I went insane
To leave her love and beauty, I was mad
I feel it now as much as I did then
But I remember all the joy we had
I wish that we could live that joy again
My second life deserves a second try
to give her all my love before I die.

Chittenango Falls

At Chittenango Falls I liked the way
we kissed. I wasn’t sure how far to go.
I wanted to make love to you that day
but wasn’t sure if I should take it slow.
You spread a blanket underneath a tree
and wrapped yourself around me in the shade
your body, warm and comfortable to me
I felt your love although it wasn’t made
At Chittenango Falls the air was cool
from water as it splashed upon its way
The stream descended down into a pool
We’d found the perfect place to kiss and lay
I think of Chittenango Falls and you
whenever I feel sad or down or blue.

When We Die

What happens when we die? I think I know
I’m pretty sure I crashed and died last Spring
I’ll tell my death-belief to you, although
Belief in something may not mean a thing
I rode my bike as fast as I could spin
Then I collided sideways with a car
I struck my head and shook the brain within
Most places that I damaged bear a scar
My memories of crashing are obscured
by memories of angels on a mount
My memories are poignant, not absurd
The angels said my time with them would count
So death is just a meeting and a task
And Heaven, Hell? Don’t know; I didn’t ask.

Monica

I watched the diamonds sparkle in the light
while waiting for the beauty, blonde and tall
The gold reflected everything in sight
when beauty came; I’d wait for her to call
my name. Her voice was comforting to me
And now I need her comfort, want her more
I want to hear, to touch her, and to see
her beauty like I’ve never seen before
No simile of jewelry can compare
with how I love her beauty, she can shine
more radiant than poetry. I’ll dare
complete her sonnet, hope that she’ll be mine
Dear Monica, my memories of you
are beautiful. I know that they are true.