Tag Archive: love lost


Finely Inflated

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Once as a girl I was saved
shaved in many directions
to the point, rapier wits
poised, ready to please
left me breathlessly awaiting
a pulse, passion and reasons to live,
to fly was all I could do, would want to
lose myself in long walks, warm downpours
would slowly trickle and seep, my heels on the bricks
echoed in alleys and fine halls, sounding better, much rounder
on marble, I’d love how the glasses tinkled while laughter
rang out then simply faded and died so quickly
so easily lost though fingertips touching
forever so lightly, ever longing
fine starlight, these prisms
of stars, I’d wonder, I’d ask myself
why go on irresistible time, place really matters doesn’t
matter so I choose to leave, to stay, to go, to exit flamboyant
when I was a girl once, combed in elusive fashion

© Chagall 2015

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We’d make love early
then sit on the floor
in the dark along
the windowed wall
wrote poetry while
sheer curtains blew
warm rainy wind about us

© Chagall 2015

Apparently Not So

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It’s the way Pop started to go, she said,
small things, inconsequential; so I fret
for things I did today: poured the whole well
of ground coffee beans directly into the pot,
rather than measure the right amount
into the brew receptor, and reached for gel
instead of saline, to lubricate my lenses.

© Chagall 2015

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Dots imitate light
Dead pointillists’ impressions
Days she’d fade away

© Chagall 2015

Haiku For 186K Per Second

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I miss her always
She’s approximately now
One single light year

© Chagall 2015

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Singularity
Inside I’m screaming aloud
Without her outside

© Chagall 2015

Discount Mismatched Sets

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The cups we bought that day
so new now chipped away,
tucked aside in cupboards
rarely opened.

© Chagall 2015

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All I want to do is merely erupt in so many ways as you’re thinking,
I need more of me to go around to surround her singularly.

No matter how hard I try I cannot conceive nor convey her essence in this space.

She was asked once if she always flew
down or preferred instead to land, to which she replied:
It’s merely the flying, what more could I want,
what more would one wish for?

I’ve broken my mind and my wings, so many times
wondering if she’d rather be elsewhere.

Her ankle and calf traces the cumulus cloudy nimbus that rains on me,
then it pours on us, ending as a cold-blue drizzle.

© Chagall 2015

Not Enough Light

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I place my bookmark upside down
or right-side up, pointing front
or back, to easily resume
from where I’ve stopped,
top-left open or bottom facing
that sort of thing;
my read of you though
leaves me so
I keep my mark
on its edge.

© Chagall 2015

All I Have Left

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At least once a week, I search Google Maps,
for your house and I know it’s that day
we played hooky from work, July 2012, so hot,
the neighborhood empty and us in the backyard,
you pouring lemonade, I strumming serenades,
barefoot loungers on Barco chairs, watching the world go by,
high from the satellite’s view I zoom slowly
till I enter your heart again.

© Chagall 2015