Wednesday, March 26, 2003 5:20:51 AM



Dilemma

It’s like a string covered with glue and glass powder

That which I tug between

My fingers and mine

My spirit and soul



Intricate balance of heavenly things and earthly what-nots



Pull me and I’ll bleed

Desire – shut up and stop hurting



Desires that make and break me

that break and make me whole

I love I need love how can I live appropriately without you and him

Without him, I’ll cease to live

Without you I’ll live funnily



Wake me –

Lying between white sheets

long windows of mid-morning sunshine

Stuff my right hand dreams of



Live through me

Sand squishing through my feet

My saviour’s fingers through my hand

Earth’s mine, I claimed



What’s this and that, or not perhaps

I’ll continue to pull

I love you so much, I have to learn to give you up – completely



The string snaps.

Wednesday, January 30, 2002 1:17:06 AM



Uncertain



Uncertain—a fearsome word—

Of how much he values me

I value him so—

Enough, to make light of

Uncertainty



If a decade rolls by—

And I were still uncertain, I

Would dry up from—

Neglect.

Like, a deflated bubble



Mister K. Love me.

Love me much.

And love me just enough

Seek to understand me—

Unless,



It’s not worth the effort?

If, so, then, let’s one of us

Counter-offer for another

Contract. Let’s frustrate

This one! -Possible?



But—my heart would ache

And sour up—outside in.

Because, I love you Boy

So much to the point I’m—

Desperate.



Feverish, of which a

Waft of cinnamon sometimes

Heals.

Yet, what I truly, barely desire

Is -

Thursday, January 31, 2002 12:54:17 AM



Delirious



Delirious! Yes!





How can a mortal—

I— put such love

In words? Blasphemy!





Desperate! Does he

Love me this much?

Ever? Will ever?



Analogies dry up

Intensity

There’s no one metaphor.



No—



I have apologies to make for loving him this much.

I have Jehovah to thank, for having a privilege

To have a love so—



So—

Friday, December 27, 2002 12:16:20 AM



I almost forgot

The shot of high that only

Comes with an extreme

—



(Again I commit the blasphemous crime of using the pen to the nearness of this extreme—)



But reminded,

Of this fit that

Can only be love.

Have I found His best for me?

A fit a man could not devise

A love that could not cynically exist



May I?—

I want to be with you till I die

I’ll try to make it last

I’ll live, I won’t die

Before my time

Regret the times I think of it

Lifetime.

Tuesday, March 12, 2002 7:27:24 PM



Painting a sad picture

I was once married. It was a lovely affair. The stars burst into being that night. I was dropped into a field of buttercups, too madly in love. And so was he. But it was in the past, and very much a delicious memory than a present reality.



Today, I am no longer with him, as one. No longer, because he, and therefore I, had a problem that we never could solve. It required a hope more than he and I could conjure up. And so I am no longer married.



We were made for each other. But not meant to be.