Nothing More to Miss

There are moments I cannot touch…out of fear from being.

Dark, gloved hands, reaching out in leather and lace, pulling me from the sanguine times.

Floors that drop without provocation.

Shifting forest that call loud and severe.

And, yet I find, there is no voice.

Puppets and clowns amassed in bad intent.

This are the times that love and loss have lent.

I miss you when there is nothing more to miss.

I fall in love with you, each illness, each sorrow, again and again.

In the seconds that backtrack from past to present and present to future.

You are what love to be.

You are my friend.

Someone’s Someone

You were someone’s-someone, once.
Such as, those many wanting more than just enough.
A young wife given to the vow of love.
Had you not been tangled up in someone else’s blues?
Would I have known you,
the way in which I have imagined you?

Love and Diversity

 

Love does not entitle us.

Love does not offer a direct route…

blissfully,shifting… frequently in the sway of the soul.

The road to our terms of endearment…often not the same.

 

Quirky Kind of Love

She thinks my words are obscene and, peppered with perfection.

She is in awe of how I prepare for accidents and incidents…I cannot control.

The records she keeps are of all the mistakes…I have yet to own.

In and out of our blind-spots…imageedit_158_5996355660

I may believe love too often tragic.

She frequently believes any love is mystical and some sort of magic.

Our Woman of Age

Franklin, New Hampshire
Franklin, New Hampshire

The woman… had faded more than the others of similar age.

Beyond what is eerily unique.

Encompassing much that many would consider…adept physique.

There had been no love lost.

Between citizens, denizens and the female of frost.

imageedit_110_7069701511

Gray indeed, this creature of comfort.

Wrinkled, hand upon well trodden hand, she stood still.

As if to say,

‘I am here, dear…lend me your fill.’

And, with a chaotic turn of reddened cheek…

one became two.

Our woman of age, had the company of…someone new.

If one were to turn away.

A stranger, perhaps.

They would have missed…love’s aftermath.

Subsequently, being of similar mind.

I could not let go of my everyday find.

What a couple of friends…turned another way?

Obviously, the two women, were perturbed with the storm’s dismay.

How simple it must have been to lend an open palm to another?

Beyond, charity, the woman of notice…had been aiding her lover.

As cursory as…a New Hampshire blizzard.

I took note of how beautiful love ages…with just a convenience visit.

So lovely, had been the flakes falling in the backdrop.

Eloquent maturity in the feel of another.

The knowing of which is grace.

And,

what is the gentile feminine pace.

My morning ended in its usual organized chaos.

Yet, I could not help but wonder,

‘What of the older woman at my pit stop.’

Over exposed…too commercialized, the need for youth.

Give me a moment alone with love’s lifeline.

Just a second, unnoticed with just two.

Just two…furrowed in tenderness…everyday…as something, new.

georgia