Crashing Into the Fall

Crashing Into the Fall

Maybe it’s just Autumn.
The leaves are falling.
the air begins to smell like Winter,
and I am finding myself again.
Maybe I don’t need this distraction
right now, or ever, but
you’ve burrowed under my skin
and heart, to my very soul.
You’ve cut me to the core.
I’m a boat, abandoned at sea
and you, the lighthouse,
but no one’s home
and I’m crashing.

Fresh and Fresher; Hope and Hopeless

Fresh and Fresher; Hope and Hopeless

Hopeless romantic
or perhaps I’m simply
hopeless. Stolen moments,
fleeting. I get precious seconds
before you’re gone,
a butterfly beautiful,
flighty, riding the breeze,
one fancy to the next.
Who are you to me?
Nothing is simple.
I reach into my holster
and draw nothing but blanks.
My mind is emptier than your words,
I’m clueless.
My fists still clench in anger
at the thought.
You’re a modern Rembrandt
longing for fresh new canvas
to fill with your colors,
but this masterpiece was finished
many years ago.
I hardly need new paint.
I cannot bear that burden,
for you or any man.