More Old(ish) Shit

Untitled 7/16/13

Her eyes roasting like a sacrificial bull

passionately dispassionate

hatefully tender

a mistake away from bloodshed

I could not love her more if I tried.

All’s fair in love at war,

or so the saying goes

Untitled 8/07/13

When we make love

her eyes focus on a distant star

and time is an old relative of ours

dotting and forgetful

her face becomes empty

barren like Luna in the old days

and I am the golden-faced conquering knight;

so close yet so far away.

I cannot help but love her

for her faults so divine

and her eccentricities so human.

She whispers to me some nights,

“We are more alike than you think”

Untitled (Sometime in August)

Her face so feline and cunning

makes me smile

That old kind of smile, warm and familiar

Not done for politeness or spite but for the sheer sake of happiness

Her hair like warm and spacious

enough for me to bury my head in

and imagine a better place than this.

Her voice an old friend

Familiar yet not

Strangely uncomfortable despite all protestations of the opposite

Something new in something old, and you think you might like it.

When I see her staring at me

Playfully coy or Indignant and annoyed or

any number of emotions, my heart

drops

A most exhilarating feeling of falling

through the atmosphere of my heart like

the crystal spheres of old

shattering each with the fearful awe love brings to the vulnerable

but her eyes, like a distant star or

a sunken treasure ship

are worth anything.