Infatuation

You ache to remember
hands rushing to greet you
faces upturned
hungry shadows
caressing your legs
in just the right way
and how it felt
to be the match
that could set
each small kindling
pyre ablaze.
Warm eyes
melting in your gaze,
drinking in
your every word
feasting upon each laugh
each tear, each smile,
that made you beautiful,
if only for a moment…

Patchwork Queen

I may smile
I might be nice
but my advice
doesn’t grow on trees
so don’t recite your monologue
thinking you’ve fooled me.
Dress it up or paint it gold
but there is no disguise
for the drama
you’ve skillfully woven
deep between the lines.
I won’t be in the middle
of two extremes,
the luggage you carry
is your cross to bear
Dear Abby isn’t painted
on my door
so don’t knock
expecting an answer.
I’m not
your one stop
fix it shop,
or the duct tape
holding the parts in place.
nor my words
like tarot cards
that drip
with some promise
of escape..

Just remember when
you come to me,
I am not
the patchwork queen…