Letters to Dandelion (12 page)

in my glass shattered love

and the pain in my gut.

Her beauty is ingrained

and woven into the fibers
of my desire,
so deeply branded is her

memories,

now as thin as smoke.

I was more than in love with her.

And that’s never a good sign.

Steel - is heated, into a

liquid, before it is skimmed

and trimmed, and treated,

and then beaten into a

useful and purposeful shape.

All these things had to happened.

Dandelion opened the door
for me to engage in my new war

of seeing myself,

carving my path,

and throwing my new found fate

into the unforgiving winds.

Aftermath

I walked away from a dream

When I made enough, to buy the stuff,

the stuff from which I dreamed;

I held it all and had a ball,

unsatisfactory though it seemed.

And my mind grew angry,

my heart grew weary,

my lungs air could not fill,

My eyes were teary,

my nerves were shattered,

and I felt I lost my will.

When I beheld her,

and then I touched her,

a miracle rushed through my palms.

Her eyes like money,

her stature so stunning,

and perfection to quite no wrong.

She was my dream.

She was everything to me,

all that I grew up reaching to possess.

She was more than beauty,

more than savory and

and in my mind, a Princess.

But dreams are fake.

Dreams come at night,

not during the day.

So when I reached to her,

through her my hand grew,

and when she spoke, my

ears tuned to the sounds

of nothingness.

Pantomime – in the darkness

of my visions, and things that

I wish for, but have no purchase

with God who holds everything

I want, but allows nothing to slip.

I was empty, as she reached for me,

and her hand passed through my

breast.

I felt dead and helpless.

Paralyzed, as I realized,

my dream with her, would never

be and was just a gut wrenching

empty moment of time.

Waking up cold, and alone, in

a pool of sweat,

I walked away

from another dream of lies,

and cries

and whys.

   The Wings of Goodbye.

        Upon the wings of goodbye.

The air rushes to bring a tear to my eye,

But I will hold down my cries,

In respect for you.

        A non-existent breeze,
created by their flow,

Brings a sorrow only my heart would know.

For on the wings of goodbye,

is where my feelings fly.

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

judgmental?

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