Of Coffee, Crackers and Mortal Men

A man I thought wise said these words,
And having thought myself wiser that I was,
I sought to append.

So the man I thought wise said,
"I like my coffee the way I like my women;
Dark and Sweet."

And There.
Not just an empty cup of memories,
Reminding you of what was, with whiffs,
And the lingering warmth of a recently used bedside,
And the space between your fingers that once held Something.

And at Night.
Where the darkness warms as the Darkness cools,
And the moon shines in both.
The Nightsong the chorus to the sips and lip-touches.
The drink beckoning the lengths of night to come.

And with Crackers.
Because even though there is more to life than Love, and Flowers and Airs
It doesn't hurt to add Love and Flour and Air...
Or even a bit of hardship;
Though between the two of us, they grow soft.

That's how I like my coffee,
And my Crackers,
And some Mortal Men.
And I will enjoy them, until they,
Or I,
Expire.

"With Love"

As she fingered her secrets through my head,

Hiding them not in my memories but in the hair that guards them,

I Slept. 

But not before answering with my own truths, 

Tapped out on the floor with the rhythm of my feet

Morse Code..

Not a word uttered.

Just Communication. 

And even in the silence of a dreamless sleep she wrote them.

Inscribing in the keratin canvas the fears and joys I haven't been told. 

Concealing them.
Close enough to feel but too far to read. 

She wrote them there.

For I had long run out of words to read to her.

I awoke, and she closed her remarks

"With Love,"

Synesthesia

I shall remember the taste of your quickening heartbeat,
The texture of your voice,
Because in you I see the sweet smell of a Jazz piece.
Making me feel all the colours
And hear the flavour of your skin.
"Please don't go
I'll eat you whole
I love you so, I love you so, I love you so"
Sensations intertwine,
Because in you I hear the comforting feel of a long time.
Clarity at last in a fool's mind
Sounds, aromas, colours, textures, flavours:
You capture my whole consciousness.
Because in you, I'm a synesthete.

An Apology

I was once told that I apologized once too much.
My "sorry"s depreciated,
Unappreciated,
They no longer alleviated the hurt I caused.
She told me this.
She left.
I apologized.

It had to be done,
There was no other road left open to me;
I fucked up.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
I really want you to.

My apologies are sincere
And even though my personal torment cannot dry tears
I'm a fuck up.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
Please do.

I realize I tend to raise expectations.
I do so much right,
Say so much right,
Be so much right,
But I in the end are what I am
Fallible.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
"I'm Sorry."