Cold

Was I the cat
And you the mouse?
Was I the witch
And you the house?
Was I the glitch?
Were you the itch?
Was I the stitch unraveling your blouse?

Was I was the give
And you the take?
Was I the drought
And you the lake?
Was I the doubt?
Were you devout?
Was I the shout your heart just couldn’t take?

Was I the wick
And you the spark?
Was I was the bright
And you the dark?
Was I the right?
Were you the light?
Was I the frightened dog who couldn’t bark?

Was I the weak
And you the bold?
Was I the worn
And you the sold?
Was I the scorn?
Were you the torn?
Was I the storm that made your heaven cold?

Waiting

Let me sing you a lullaby
Somber and sonorous
Where in the lull – a lie
Haunting and onerous –
No means can mollify
Not when our yawning trust
Slips into slumber eternally culling my

Wants and my wishes
Til all but the latter
Are porcelain dishes
That fall and then shatter
When say I, “My, mistress,
My god, what’s the matter?”
You look away, silently, coldly and listless

To scenery seemingly
Far from my vision
So lost in your dream, and me
Lost in division
Til wishing you’d scream at me
Rife with derision
If just for a sign that your eyes are still seeing me

Sitting and weighing
And patiently holding
My breath, ever bating
And yet never folding
To moments frustrating
Or losses unknowing
And holding your hand so you know that I’ll always be waiting

Her

Sometimes I let myself believe
You’re her
I comb through all the words you weave
Points of punctuation
Methods of dictation
Is that the way she’d space her lines?
Is that the way she speaks her mind?

Sometimes I let myself believe
You’re her
Behind a mask I can’t perceive
Where pictures might assert
Points of evidence alert
This poet mentioned…one she reads?
Am I inventing clues and leads?

Sometimes I let myself believe
You’re her
The day your words were first conceived
The phrases and the pauses
Arrangement of your clauses
I tell myself it can’t be you
But hope my doubts just aren’t true

Sometimes I let myself believe
You’re her