I close my eyes and
focus, listen
but the more you say
the less I understand

Tears tear stitches
sewn then broken
scars stressed and aging
redden on my hands

A slip and then a papercut
a skid and then a fall
"remember us, remember me,
I won't forget to call"

I miss you's, not I love you's
come back but not to me
are our suns still the same
maybe that is why you can't see.

Rain

rain droplets
intermittent patter
wet splotches on the ground
not yet committed
to downpours deluge
somewhere nearby
an open window
I detect the strains
of guitar music
plucked from minor chords
an accompanying voice
lifts me from my reverie
leaving my melancholy
somewhere behind me
unexpected passion
comes to me this night

When you are old

written by W.B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

I think I’m biosexual
But I’m really not too sure
There’s certain things I’d like
That I have never tried before

Friends tell me that it’s normal
And if the chance arises
To grab it with both hands
And I’ll enjoy a few surprises

Although it’s just a fantasy
A dream for which I hope
If it should ever happen
I am certain I could cope

Now I’m sure I’m biosexual
For when all is done and said
I just can’t wait to try it
With two women in my bed