1022013

Posted in Poetry on October 2, 2013 by J.

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The bittersweet absence of peace,
oh how it snuck up.
Bitten by luck,
rational thoughts
cease.

The gravity that pulls me won’t leave.
Caught in her fly trap.
seeking from her sticky wrap.
There’s no escape. No
reprieve.

Spellbound, earthbound, downed and drowned.
Gone. Head over heels.
Lost. Caution forgotten.
A wintered seed. Love,
found.

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09302013

Posted in Poetry on September 30, 2013 by J.

There’s nothing more beautiful
than the nexus of childhood innocence,
romance and mathematics.

09232013

Posted in Poetry on September 23, 2013 by J.

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These days, I often feel like a rubber band,
stretched tightly around three nails:

A cuddle?
A very passionate kiss?
A kiss in a dangerous place,
arousal, barely controlled?

I embrace the tension,
savor the vibration.

It’s not so elusive, this,
simply set-off with a little kiss.

Not just once.
must be twice.
Better-yet, thrice.
To set the vibration in motion,
the perfect combination
of arousal and emotion.

There isn’t a more delicate place,
than that which is spanned by
those three nails,
which I so embrace.

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09192013

Posted in Poetry on September 19, 2013 by J.

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Her face is my beach vacation,
with more freckles than grains of sand.
Her adoring gaze is my adventure,
eyes as green as an Alaskan summer.
The nape of her neck, my road trip,
hair as soft as the highway breeze.
Her smile is the smoky campfire,
that brings tears to my eyes.

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09182013

Posted in Poetry on September 18, 2013 by J.

I’ve come to understand
the privilege of proximity.
To witness firsthand
the way she smiles so briefly
jokes so deviously,
before she’s serious again.

Doctor of my heart,
if I could only hold her hand,
pull her in, make her stay.
Not for an hour, or three,
but for the day.

I’ve come to understand
the gift of luck.
To marvel at coincidence,
to imagine different endings.
I’ve come to understand the difference
between effort and comfort,
and how to savor patience.

09172013

Posted in Poetry on September 17, 2013 by J.

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Touched only with a word,
never my lips.
Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat.

Though my lips shaped the word
the wind carried it to her ear.
Pitter-pat.

How much happier would I be if
my lips were there,
to deliver the word?
Pitter-pat.

But the word only grazed them,
lonely as they are,
as it passed from my tongue.
Pitter-pat.

The giddiness of temptation.
The pang of anticipation.
Too long. Too far,
I long for the eclipse.
From my breath to her lips.
Pitter-pat.

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09102013

Posted in Poetry on September 10, 2013 by J.

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The window pane cried in bitter jealousy
as the rain played outside.
A class of happy raindrops skipped down the walk
and laughed at the wheels of the cars that drove by.
They took turns pushing each other on the swing,
a blowey torrent of trapeze play.
Swooping, diving acrobats,
spitefully, delightfully dangerous.
The careless horseplay of the newly-arrived,
a prelude to the more perilous play of adulthood.
The rain slapped at the fragile glass,
but the pane sent it back. Scolded.

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