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LOVE GONE WRONG Or wrong gone love

Flirting with Disaster


 
Something about you touches me,
beneath and beyond the skin, the masks I wear,
which wear thin
and wraps around my feelings like a desperate embrace
and shine in my eyes like the sun on my face.

Something about you awakens imagination
and I see myself with you
in another time and place,
no walls, no promises, like barricades between us,
no pretexts telling why it wouldn't work
just your signature upon my heart,
and your love, your passion, swelling up and launching
dreams like helium ranbows that decorate the sky
and a wondering within myself
why it took this long for me to fly.

Is it my insanity to fall so hard, so fast
so far beyond the structures I've pre-cast?
One time with you, protected then,
from a destiny sleeping,
fitfully tossing in bed, almost rousing,
almost raising up its head.
Did you feel it then, a sleepy consciousness
of bonds between us from other worlds,
of markings on hearts like genetic code
which awkwardly but certainly yearned for consummation,
soon forgotten when the proximity was gone,
yet instantly rekindled in the friction of words against
paper,
borne on the wings of a postage stamp.
Not the words themselves but the feelings they concealed
conveyed between the lines,
invisible to the eye; legible to the heart.

So strange it is, the heat, the fancy
the rebel that is love--
defies conveneint structures,
wages war against conscience anda the will,
complicates, frustrates, confuses the safe-houses we erect,
never lets us off so easy, never lets us have it both ways,
never lets us have it all.

-jwh- 


Fateful Wednesday

 

Your face was the winter sky, wearing
its own forecast. Your
voice was a changing wind, swirling,
penetrating skin to bone, a
stiniging chill.

Sitting erect opn my bed your
bopdy was a barrent tree, leaves
shed, branches brittle. The
wind gathered force and you did not
bend.

Your words rained down like meteors, stung
like sleet: ice missiles pelting the skin, assaulting the
heart.

-jwh-

Notes from the End of the Honeymoon,
Part One




I must look pretty bad under your microscope.
Everything you say is my fault.
I can remember you taking the blame once but I can't remember what about. Sometimes
love is a wall. And words are bricks, stones, and
hearts are what's left after the shattering. But
maybe it is all me. Maybe I am a wounded
bear maybe I need to be shot for the sake of
society or at least be banished to my
cave. It wa loney by myself but there were no
stones.

-jwh-    more poetry