She said
I will miss you when you go
expecting I’d respond
And I you
because then she would know
So instead I said
You’re nuts, you know?
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Tag Archive: love lost
Small propeller planes overhead,
whir and circle, in summer sky,
drop straight down,
like marionettes genuflect,
on make-believe knees,
ride the cloud-scape, trace the rim
of bulbous, cottony profiles,
precisely, as if etching them on.
Girl next to me smells like lemon,
bet you she feels,
kisses like meringue.
The field is rich, primal, loamy,
though dry from the lack of a few days rain;
shuffling souls wander, kick up dust,
wish-on-me thistles, ancient spores and grains.
We stood like this once very long ago,
when the woods were not yet here,
when darker nights prevailed
letting in so much starlight,
so much more than now!
Then our eyes focused,
on far away, to the reaches of the roll
of the land, broad strokes of bumpy, lovely earth,
sod, thicket, sun and flora.
Very little then was near;
as we looked
into each other,
we missed the point,
gazing beyond,
the we there blurry in the foreground.
The planes overhead loop then roll,
synchronized in sunlight,
splitting the sky to unveil back-lit flaring pulses,
the blue blare of sparking pinwheels.
At the end of the day,
fires, like match flames, dot the field,
the diehards hang on
till the final drop,
when red-tailed hawks nestle in.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I promise to be good no more, my ulterior motive, my alter-ego,
boundless, shaken loose as altar palsy,
would rock the Casbah on the organ in the apse.
Starry-eyed?
I’d sleep one-eye open, if I were you.
Too many ellipses, methinks,
too many bombardiers, outweigh the troubadours;
I’ve reckoned it’s important
to protect the flank without disturbing the garden?
Eat, drink, be merry, with others as well as your own.
do not harm each other, or be concerned with things;
love the earth.
There’s full moons tonight all over the worlds,
everywhere lovers heave sighs, look up,
to where you are, just far away,
in the light from old stars, open-lipped and breathless.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
So much to do,
to get to you.
Think, write,
speak, then wait
for you.
Air carries
me, my sound
to your drum.
Ticklish cilia
let you
hear me.
Pheromones moan,
how silly, mon petite amie.
I’m upside-down,
there in your head;
eyes right me up!
Kisses happen
the moment before
you realize.
But my heart
persists on a tight-wire,
your same pulse.
Beating quantum
at the synapse,
the heat we share.
Your name
is your aroma,
the things I know you by.
The feel of an eyelash,
open, close,
on a cheek.
A tear’s last moment,
at the jaw line,
just before the drop.
Never felt
so weightless
before.
Or
ever
since
after.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
They say failed aerialists know that the last fall is the hardest. But such a sweet kiss when you hit the ground. My soul turns somersaults now. I hesitate to let go, I don't dare. I just watch you as you sail on by, reaching for the air. Updraft tumbles me wildly. I flutter by, bye baby. They say fallen trapezists know that to miss time is to lose heart. It's such a sad kiss when you say goodbye. Chicheme, March 2013
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