an untitled love poem

O. Henry!
On a thorn, your nightingale bled
to death, to make the white rose red
all night, for the beloved.

Oh nightingale!
give me your courage
so that I too am bled
till my rose is red.

The beauty- parlour

Having your body
massages, rubbed, cleaned
by other women
is deeply relaxing.
there is an ease, a letting go
revealing body to body
the free, open nudity
of women among women.

But the mantra ia fairness
fair is good. fair is lovely.
fair is the desired ideal.

Well, but I am dark
And what if I like darkness?
and want to revel in it, love it,
making it wholly my own?

The Dark Night

The dark night
pads quietly in
making no sound

The dark night
warm, soft
gently embraces the world

The dark night
envelops, encompasses
silence binds separateness together

The dark night
is a time of rest
when hearts mend and heal themselves

The dark night
and its silence
lead me to greater clarity

The dark night
with its moon, is a friend
not an enemy we are afraid of.

two pairs of eyes...

two pairs of eyes
locked together
in intense gaze

the silence is palpable
dense with weight of the unspoken
feel it, touch it

the moment if fleeting
eyes are averted
it's over. it's all over.

Haunting memories linger.