I love you.
I don’t like you.
Let me hold you.
Get away from me.
You are my all.
You are nothing to me.
Happiness seems further away.
Harder to have and to hold.
When is it too far away?
When do I say enough?
Love can heal.
Love can hurt.
When is it enough?
He says, ‘I love you.’
He says, ‘You are stupid and not worth anything.’ He says,
‘I can’t live without you.’
He says, ‘I can’t stand to live with you.’
He says, ‘You please me.’
He says, ‘You can’t do anything right.’
He says, ‘I love you.’
When is it enough?
Cold breath
Whispering,
Tickling Ice-kissed fingers
Of frozen tree limbs.
Snow dancing,
Singing sweet nothings
To hushed hills waiting
For Snow’s layered embrace.
Ice feeling,
Her sharp touch prickling,
Sending shivers of delight
Through the youngest and oldest of trees.
Frost lulling
Autumn’s last blossoms
Into a sleep much yearned for,
A slumber flooded with dreams of next Spring.
Bodies wrapping,
Interlacing,
Forced to embrace blood-warm lips
To banish Ice's hungry kiss.
Forced to hug tight
To stave Frost's Bitter Cold,
Forced to fulfill
Dreams of ecstasy beside Fire’s red, pulsing glow.
Ice, Snow, Wind, Cold, Fire, Flesh:
From the Dying Dances of Autumn’s Leaves
Snowflake kisses stir to life
The Lovers of Winter
Shiny spade glistens in the sun,
brown dirt splashes on the lid
showers of tears also bid
a heartfelt, watery goodbye.
Naw, I wasn’t ready to die,
but that bold Grim Reaper
is such a grabby keeper;
now, I’m-a six-feet deeper.
Soon, several creepers
will have me for dinner,
I’ll be a lot thinner
one old skinny sinner.
I saw the coyote in the distance,
loping between two bare oaks
on a snow-bound golf course.
I no longer thought of the squirrel remains I had found, a
tail, some tufts of fur, blood stain.
Nor did tales of disappearing pets resonate
in the wind-buffed white.
That coyote was just another creature
making do with the meager fare of winter,
head bent, tongue wagging,
body twitching with each rent
in the bone-chilled drapes of silence