I went to slake my melancholy
In your vibrant lap of life;
In my mind, my fantasy,
I leapt forward to fulfilment,
Fired by fondest memories
Of familiar pleasures past;

To reconnect with you, my dear,
And find out how you’ve been –
Who knows what lies beneath
The simplest touch of life?
From a woman who loves pink
And prefers to eat blue steak….

I promised too much, too soon,
And delivery fell through;
Hesitated, as weakness laid me low
(With hints of age and frailty);
Then faltered, once we’d agreed,
So – after hope – I let you down.

Yes, anyway, the fault was mine,
I cannot change it now –
Explain? What use is that!
– Only try to make amends.
Am I forgiven? Unforgiven?
Or cut off like a knife?

Not knowing leaves me free:
To hope, to meet again,
To walk that path with you
One day, just for a while,
When you may let me know
What I am allowed to do.

Points of View, or, Tides

Yelling! Out, out, out!
Against! Over, over, over!
And again: What you see
Depends on where you stand.

I am drawn to your conflicted love:
Je déteste toi ! Baise-moi !
We share our food,
We drink from the same spring,
We mirror our reflections
But we don’t see eye to eye.

I wish you joy of what I give
– sweat of my brow, toil of my hand –
I give you all I have to give
– what you wanted, asked at last –
But face the acrid, bitter taste
To see trust lightly spurned.

Hot anger blows over and away;
But cold fury’s icy grip does not
Relinquish us, its hand of fate
Is frozen, unforgiving, dark,
Sweeping out to sea
On entropy’s relentless tide;

Implacable, we bite and tear,
Sharp cuts, intended wounds,
To hurt the other’s tender heart;
Distressed relief released,
In blood, but merciless,
Until we can love no more.

Yelling! Out, out, out!
Against! Over, over, over!
But always: What you see
Depends on where you stand.