And feeling an exceptionally
Deciduous phase
I peeled my skin
To other days

You were there
And I was too
In my flat
As winter grew

We had tea 
On wooden chairs
Spoke in symbols
On two squares

You told a tale
Of another Sea
My presence pale
In poverty

The fruit on plates
Mocked farm hands
From the States
No foreign lands

The music calm
As I disrobe
On your palm
You spun the globe

Just a memory
All but lost
I’m brewing tea
In morning frost

And feeling an exceptionally
Deciduous phase
Pouring tea
As my pen strays

With fruit on plates
In poverty
Another now waits
To sip your tea


My masochist 
Eyes studying 
The pics of you
Your old girl
Now the new
Not girls like me
They’ve had high tea
On another Sea
They did not sprout
Or bloom in doubt
From the dirt 
Of a farmer’s root
They’ve studied 
With dignity
Three piece suit
While my pen
Wrote clumsily 
They seem
Taller than me
They seem
Happy in the pose
A lover’s theme
In designer’s clothes
I was so
I seemed to
Disappoint you in 
The others did not
Speak with a poet’s
They are all
Images of me
Next to you


If pain can be measured
How would it be?
It’s value unknown
Pain is a secret
Spoken only by a soul
Sleeping in sickness
Not one shall pass
From this life and beyond 
Without its embrace
There are clinics and pills
Remedies and therapies
The frowned faces
Pouring in their doors
And lotions and shamans
Pain is invisible 
Like prayers
For folded hands
Much work to do
Pain is never unemployed


We’ve expired 
With smeared ink
A reminder
To make me think
Our life finite 
In a wink

Lifting tea
Pen in hand
A writer’s pose
You expressed
Dislike of prose
Dislike at best

Halting words 
From fine print
Spun inside
My eyes squint
Left unsigned
The paper rot
An intertwined
Twisted plot

I wanted to retract
I wanted to hide
The deed lay stacked
Like groom and bride 

Bleeding on a page
You dislike prose
A treasure cage
From which my hand flows

Word mined  jewels
To hasten your feet
Twin swollen soles
Took to the street

My spools strayed
You descended steps
A heart retrograde 
Where our words wept 

Revels of dismay
An abacus clone
Counting the days
Of numbers unknown

It’s what you now chose
Leaving me alone
With your dislike
Of my pretty prose