Old treasure in my chest.
Memories of lovers who
told me pretty lies,
then, ugly truths.
This is how wisdom comes upon us,
bit by bit, consuming, assimilating,
angry eyes, words black as coal with
the impact of blood diamonds.
Long, lazy, joyous explorations in the spring
of love's yoke,
burning passion within the summer's blazing, sweating,
primal, mode of jungle dance, ecstatic ritual.
Each endearing trip of the tongue,
awkwardness of form,
allowing greater gratitude of intimacy.
Ah, love so sweet. It subsumes rational pursuits.
A lick of the tongue and silliness seems so much fun,
and that enough of a rationale to overwhelm ambition.
Life proceeds. Love recedes.
Those irritating quirks, that jerk
always assuming intimacy.
Barbed words are merely play.
Playing rough, not construed as abuse.
Disparagement is oh so cute.
You were never all that hot anyway.
It was just amusing summer play.
Those burning secrets, I've told them
a hundred times before.
Run along now. I've got better bits in store,
dreams and schemes and far more seemly
side candy.
Yet, returning, like the sun
some magic one melts
my icy heart.
Merging with oxygen sighed in so deeply
by expanding lungs,
rising through to open quivering petals,
making for delight.
The wise have learned to take it as it comes.
Adventure winks and beckons,
catching the lively eye.
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