A Matter Of Opinion

Some folks might say you’re “picky.” Well, it’s one such word they’d use …

and that depends entirely on who’s expressing views.

“Persnickety,” “particular,” “fastidious,” or such,

can all be used to say that, well, perhaps you care too much.

And though I see how “anal” might describe your special zeal,

this girl prefers “meticulous,” which lends a different feel.

Dear, I need words with loving connotations to give praise.

Assiduous intentness manifests in sexy ways,

and there’s no doubt about it. You get everything just right.

You’ve got the perfect technique down; you demonstrate each night.

So I don’t mind you taking time and wanting things just so,

(yes, even when it’s good enough, and I wish we could go).

I know that when it’s my turn, you will take your time the same,

and that gives rise to ecstasy that makes me call your name.

So, fussy and punctilious are compliments, indeed.

You’re vigilant, self-disciplined, and know just what I need.

You’re ever-s0-0bservant, and your work is so precise.

Bravissimo, sweet man! Your eye for detail’s really nice.

His Favorite Things

Physics and math jokes and CPU towers,

open source software, and wizards with powers,

hobbits named Bilbo who chase after rings …

these are a few of his favorite things.

Linux and “Star Trek: The Next Generation,”

that rolly-polies are landbound crustaceans,

Lannisters fighting so they can be kings …

these are a few of his favorite things.

Cool 3-D printing, Joss Whedon, and Slashdot,

all pyrotechnics and building a flash pot,

knowing the reasons a pendulum swings …

these are a few of his favorite things.

When the code fails, when the part dings,

he is not deterred …

he simply revisits his favorite things,

and carries on like … a nerd!

Lyrics ©2015 Bridget Ayres

Set to Rodgers’ and Hammerstein’s “My Favorite Things”

The Longest 40 Minutes

The longest forty minutes start at six o’clock each day,

right after you have called to say that you are on your way,

for I know you have left from work and they don’t own your time,

and yet, I’m not there with you, lips in contact, limbs entwined.

I picture you inside your car, the highway lane below,

lip-synching to whatever song is on the radio,

hair lit up and golden in the light the sunset’s cast,

passing by each exit, till you come to ours, at last.

Although it takes place daily in a standard business week,

this being the tenth year of our romantic marriage streak,

it still gets me excited, like the first time that we met,

awaiting your arrival at a locale we’d preset.

By now, the only difference is, we live where we will meet.

It’s not a restaurant. It’s just a residential street.

Although they’re long, these forty minutes do come to an end,

and I am reunited with my husband and best friend.

Growing Old

I want to be with you forever.

I plan to grow old by your side.

 We’ll go on adventures together,

both leaving no option untried.

Someday, we may have matching canes,

or blend all our food into soup.

We’ll talk, on the porch, of our pains,

and snog, even though we booth droop.

Then one day, when I need a scooter,

we’ll add on a special sidecar

so I may ride close to my suitor,

not caring if we look bizarre.

I welcome the wrinkles and gray,

wait up for the dentures and flab,

don’t mind if you need a toupée,

or stop for an afternoon nap.

As long as I’m with you, life’s great.

There’s no place that I’d rather be.

You’ll always be my perfect date,

at twenty-six or ninety-three.

I Heart My Geek

Thanks for being just the geek I need to save the day,

whether it’s a question of my keyboard or display,

or another program that won’t load or open files.

You will come and fix it while you flash your dazzling smiles.

It might be an installation, or a network thing,

or turn into an upgrade, like the crash last month would bring.

Thanks to you, my hard drive dying wasn’t all that bad,

crushing its effectiveness at making this girl sad.

Right away you had me up and going in a pinch

using a small doo-dad that was no more than an inch.

Running Linux from a thumb drive kept me going strong,

helping me participate in NaNo all month long.

When I got my ’puter back, she’s better than before,

lots of room to grow, with most of what I lost restored.

Having tech support on site all hours is such a plus.

You come, investigate, and fix, but never make a fuss.

I’m so glad a super-nerd comes home to me each night,

seeing to my heart and any tech-related plight.

Here’s to you, my one and only favoritest of nerds!

I aim to pay you back, immortalizing you with words.

That Thing You Do

You’ve learned to do some brilliant things for me.

You try whatever goofy stuff I like …

evincing you’re my loyal devotee

by spending time on what it is I hype.

The fact that you’re resolved to pet my hair

stands out among them all, for it’s the best.

It causes me to go limp in midair,

to flop, immobilized, down on your chest.

I’ll stay there for as long as you’ll allow,

and bask in every stroke that you impart,

your fingers brushing gently on my brow;

the chills send warmth that travels to my heart.

You make a point to fit it in your day,

a kindness my love hopes it doth repay.

Home

While you were gone, I tried filling my time;

I wrote out the ways that I missed you (in rhyme).

I sought out my friends for some coffee and talk.

I even tried taking a cat for a walk.

And, feeling our house was the best place to be,

to stay when you’re ever so far ’way from me,

I rushed on back to this place we have made,

and did feel relief by your likeness conveyed.

Now that you’re here, though, the difference is stark,

so much so that I feel the need to remark:

I was still homesick, although I was home,

as much as if I had continued to roam.

It’s just a house, even with all your things.

The feel of a home is what your presence brings.

The Long and Winding Road

This is the longest drive I’ve had to make in quite a while.

Can’t wait till you arrive with your endearing, goofy smile!

It’s forty minutes to the airport gate and your embrace,

my eyes anticipating the “I’m home!” look on your face.

The long and winding road I take to get from here to there

feels longer every second, I’m most painfully aware.

’T’will, too, be hard to last the journey back here to our house,

for it has been too long since I have held you, darling spouse.

So, I will want to stop off at a hotel right away,

and consummate our love again ASAP, without delay.

Once we are home, two cats compete, and cry to feel your touch,

when mostly though, they slept, and didn’t ask where you were much.

Both of them plus me makes three; of arms, you’ve only two.

So pet me till I’m satisfied. Pet them when I am through …

for I, unlike our kitties, felt a genuine heartache.

I missed you every moment, while asleep, and while awake.

I dreamed of lying with you in our bedroom, in your nook,

of how you stroke my hair through several chapters of your book,

of knowing you are “home,” although you leave to go to work.

Just having you in town prevents the urge to go berserk.

When you are home, our life resumes the way it’s supposed to be,

with you beneath our roof, imparting cherished love to me.

Let’s skip the long and winding road and stop off for a spell,

extinguishing the fire that your sole touch was meant to quell.

Missing You

 

I tried the best distraction I could, visiting with friends …

to give myself some company until your journey ends.

I needed something marvelous to entertain my brain,

to keep my heart from bursting as I slowly go insane.

Although those friends are tried and true, I missed you just as much.

We talked of gods and man, the state of life, the world, and such.

No matter what the subject, though, my thoughts would turn to you,

no substitute available to last the two weeks through.

I sit and count the moments till you’re in my arms again,

here, soaking up the atmosphere we’ve conjured in our den.

I learned that while you’re gone, our home is where I want to be,

within the walls that witness all our witty repartee.

Your smell is in a bottle; I can douse myself each day,

and walk around imagining you offered me a spray.

The book you last were reading’s on the nightstand by our bed.

I use the same shampoo you use to groom your golden head.

And though a saucer’s never ’neath my cup of morning joe,

I think it’s cute you use one, so I do, too, when you go.

I have our family albums, and our portraits on the wall.

I wait with bated breath until the next time that you call.

I clear my afternoon to Skype and hear about your trip,

and know that when you say “a crisp,” you really mean a chip.

I long for it to be the time to go get in the car,

to fetch you from the airport once you’ve landed from afar,

to bring you home and lock the door and throw away the key,

and keep you right where you belong, alongside l’il ol’ me.

A Happy Ending

We women so love to wed our man’s potential,

the power of “could” the most sought-out credential.

The person affianced, in large, inferential,

my choice, at the time, had not seemed providential.

All marriage, by nature, is experimental;

who’s there at the altar is merely tangential.

By now we’ve advanced through a time frame essential

to label your love flow my way nigh torrential,

your treatment of my beating heart deferential,

your goals, which change with mine, our shared differential,

your husbandly ways of the flesh quintessential,

the thirst for life shown in your works influential …

my love for you still leaps in bounds exponential.

Don’t Ask

Don’t ask me how it’s going, for the truth is that it’s gone,

 a wholly unspectacular, prosaic denouement.

Don’t ask me how I’m doing. It’s a question that I dread.

I hate admitting how long I have lingered here, in bed.

Don’t ask me how I’m feeling, ’cause the answer is the same.

You’ll think I protest too much and dismiss what I declaim.

Don’t ask me how my day’s been so I won’t feel I should lie.

No man should have to fill his head with all that I decry.

Don’t ask me if I’m better. I so want to have good news.

Lacking it, my side of things, I heartily recuse.

Don’t ask me if it’s you who’s added pain to my distress.

If I have made you feel that way, I promise to redress.

Don’t ask me anything at all. Just hold me extra tight.

Being held by you is all that makes my life alright.

D-Day

Hollow words float to the sky in retreat,

tails out of reach so I can’t grab a hold.

Actions are heavy and strong like concrete,

their presence a value far greater than gold.

You say you’re willing, as though that’s enough,

counting on me to not force you to prove.

D-Day is here, sir. I’m calling your bluff.

Man up and show me, or pack up and move.

Grease Monkey

Well, look at you … all sexy … with that grease smeared on your cheek,

your hair mussed, perspiration on your forehead, neck, and chin.

Just seeing you like that can make my freckly knees go weak,

and cause prolific goosebumps to appear upon my skin.

The black tank top you’re wearing shows your arms off at their best,

all seventy-three inches of your wingspan, tip to tip,

ribbed fabric stretched across your sweaty gladiator chest,

utility belt slung down low, a nail gun at your hip.

With your new fog-free goggles pushed atop your golden head,

the lights that you’ve installed have caught your dazzling hazel eyes.

They’re bringing out that glimmer … things we could go do instead,

which call upon what’s in the tool chest stored between your thighs.

The soft synthetic leather palms on your mechanic’s gloves

feel velvety enough that I’m an instant devotee.

So let our eldest borrow them for projects that he loves …

and buy a special pair for use when you’re alone with me.

Like those on expert surgeons, they fit steady, practiced hands,

ensuring every detail of your work will be done right.

Your hands make your endeavors turn out just the way you planned,

including those that take place in our bedroom every night.

Now bring that hot mess over here and let me have a go,

for certain projects must take precedence, and this one’s mine.

Although you tend these leaky pipes, they often overflow.

That’s just what happens when you tool around and look so fine.

 

burden

the albatross approaches

it’s far past time to run

a burdened life encroaches

the worst has just begun

caught up in sickly deluge

and straining hard to breathe

no sweet relief or refuge

the sword you cannot sheathe

your best commitment sagging

resentment breeding hate

you find forgiveness lagging

no patience to abate

you want to see improvement

the journey long and hard

no vow of upward movement

both parties spent and scarred

your lover’s reprobation

upon your heart is seared

abhorrent confirmation

as bad as you had feared

there is no good solution

except for you to die

at last the devolution

his money couldn’t buy

 

Rush

The empty corridor awaits the rush,

still basking in its momentary peace,

serene, immersed in solitary hush,

that pregnant pause which grew until obese.

The door swings on its loudly creaking hinge,

all silence swallowed shockingly at once,

definitively shattering my binge,

the first to break the solitude in months.

Activity awakens deep inside,

relentlessly withstanding all the noise,

exposing what defiance failed to hide,

illuminating all as love deploys.

My heart is now an open book at last,

relinquishing resistance to the past.

My Many Lovers

One ravages me standing up like this …

the same old “Dad” our family portraits show,

the first of all who bring this kind of bliss,

the lover that my friends and family know.

I, on my back, receive a different man,

his eyes set deeper, lips protruding more.

I rise to meet his hips on the divan,

our clothes and shoes still strewn about the floor.

Another man, I see, who’s laying flat,

his lips stretched broad, his cheekbones catching light.

My gaze flows downward, for this time I’ve sat

to ride atop my husband on this night.

Earth’s gravity, our nemesis, plays tricks.

I ache to take each lover he depicts.

To Me From You, Part III: Nature’s Envy

no wonder that the sunset envies you

your hair and lips transcend its orange and pink

your eyes more gorgeous than the ocean’s blue

skin softer than the fur upon the mink

your profile leaves in want the mountain range

your genius higher than the redwood grows

your gait more graceful than the seasons change

voice gentler than the dew upon the rose

your freckles far more gold than honey wheat

smile brighter than the light after the  storm

your taste surpasses any nectar’s sweet

your love more fit than fire to keep me warm

no other woman since our world began

surpasses Mother Nature as you can

.

You Tell Me Now?!?

You’re telling me this now instead of back then?!?

I wish I’d known while unattached.

I promise, if I’d been aware way back when,

the sauciest plots would have hatched!

I didn’t think you had an interest in me.

You’d played it like you were so cool.

I’d love to seduce you; I’m no longer free.

Our one chance was back in high school.

We wouldn’t have married. We’d split in the end.

But, wow … all the mem’ries we’d have …

instead, you remained in the box I’d marked “friend,”

a fate we both know is quite drab.

I guess I shall daydream and that will be that,

for dreaming’s the best I can do.

So I leave you now, no real tits for your tat,

still wishing that back then, I knew.

heartache

growing up, I thought the word heartache was just a metaphor

but now I know that it’s literal and not figurative

it’s not a simile “like my heart’s being smashed on the floor”

real pain burning my chest, not its descriptive derivative

hot, enervating, radiating ache which will not subside

it’s all focused where my heart is physically located

not imagery in this poem, that’s how it feels inside

heartache’s an apt description that should not be underrated

pet peeve: people using “literally” when they don’t mean it

so I want to be clear that that’s not what I am doing now

this heartache feels like it might literally kill lest it quit

everyday it’s harder to say that’s something I won’t allow

 

 

 

 

Inception

The first time I saw you, I felt my heart flutter.

The first time we kissed was so sweet.

The first time you entered, I felt a deep shudder.

It all made my heart skip a beat.

The first time the sun rose with you by my side,

I memorized every detail.

The first time you shaved the chin hairs from your hide,

you proved what I liked would prevail.

The first time we parted, I felt a deep pang:

the long stretch I had to endure.

The first time you came back, to that door I sprang,

your love for me my only cure.

All these years later, it still feels the same.

I pine for you when you’re not near.

I give myself to you, I take on your name,

and hope that my foibles endear.

Bury The Hatchet

We never will agree on the events that once took place.

By now, all we can do is start again and work from here.

Let’s both quit acting like we’re in a nuclear weapons race,

each purposely provoking, every action more severe.

There’s not a one of us who hasn’t someone else to blame,

pretending like our own mistakes are pure and innocent,

when really, in the end, our motivations were the same,

for none can claim so righteously he’s only good intent.

Let’s bury deep the hatchet and then move on with our lives.

We’ll share only the joyous and hold back our tongues in rage,

for when we look beyond, we see resilient love survives;

it still remains accessible, and pays the ideal wage.

Forehead Kisses

Your lips on my forehead can turn me to mush,

the upper and lower all tender and lush …

so gently against my own skin do they brush.

They instantly prompt a sensational flush

that sends my red blood cells down south in a rush,

imparting upon my pink places dark blush.

You then lay me down on a palate so plush …

  at first when you enter I suddenly shush,

then sing out elation, the way of the thrush,

allowing your magic to pierce through the hush.

I lose all control and explode in a gush,

in turn, then, inspiring romantic slush,

which measured in pounds would, upon any, crush.




The Road To Hell

The timid grey chinchilla has intent to cross the street,

considering his options far too carefully to move.

His true love stands beyond, yet he won’t animate his feet,

the pressure ever-swelling, adding something else to prove.

At last, when he is ready, traffic’s blossomed in the road.

It’s surging to and fro’ in a vertiginous display.

Anticipation mounts until he’s ready to explode,

his cowardice proliferating, much to his dismay.

His true love waits with bated breath, admiring from afar,

encouraging her quarry to come claim the prize he wants.

The Doppler promulgates the trail of every passing car,

his reticence interpreted as targeted affronts.

All day he sits and ruminates, comparing pros and cons.

He’s hoping she may come to him if he won’t go to her.

He looks up just in time to see her disaffected yawns,

his true love now retreating in a swift, indifferent blur.

Perpetuity

You all should shag a poet who is free if you’ve the chance.

A poet offers more than just a true, whirlwind romance.

For if you do it well, you will influence what she writes.

There’s just no way around it, if you take her to the heights ….

Then your love, she’ll immortalize, your essence living on,

your most impressive sexy feats persisting when you’re gone.

Perhaps you may pass on to kids your striking DNA.

But there are certain parts of you, your children can’t convey.

And though her silly writing’s not as famous as The Bard’s,

not spoken on the stage, nor used in cheesy greeting cards,

all words writ live forever. They’ll endure throughout the years,

for writing goes beyond your genes, or when love disappears.

Plus, even if your dalliance has ended in a mess,

from time to time, she’ll read her work, and think on your caress.

Ascendancy

Discounting its import, a grave mistake,

pretending sex won’t have impact like this;

it’s something you must tend to for the sake

of marriage and your precious wedded bliss.

If you don’t get along, you’re surely doomed,

a fundamental problem you can’t shirk.

The sex won’t be enough, as was assumed.

Both need much more to make the marriage work.

But even if you’ve roots so thick and strong,

as to remain so firmly set in place,

the problems will prevail when sex goes wrong,

and in the end, divorce is what you’ll face.

Good sex can’t save a sinking marriage ship.

Bad sex will tear an everlasting rip.

 

 

To Me From You, Part II: My Favorite Machine

I am an engineer at heart, have been since I was small,

and nothing’s changed, it’s still the same, although I’m now quite tall.

I love to look within and see the way contraptions work,

to poke inside the mechanism, where its secrets lurk.

So I love learning all the parts inside that make you You.

I love to tighten properly your every bolt and screw.

I love your brainy gears that turned and made you fall for me,

all working in a way I trust, but never need to see.

All engines need to be maintained, or else they’ll fall apart.

I love to oil the valves and muscle tissues of your heart.

I love to groom my instrument and shine it up each day,

and brush the copper coils of hair your fine machine displays .

When I dismantle engine parts, I rebuild afterward.

It’s just a handy thing that I can do, ’cause I’m a nerd.

I wouldn’t want to tear your heart up. I’ll leave it intact,

the one machine whose parts I can’t replace once they have cracked.

I vow to keep you whole and give respect that you deserve,

to make sure that your love for me is something I preserve.

I’m sometimes asked which great machine I love to work on best,

which kind of  thing I’d give attention to more than the rest.

You are the best contraption one like me could ever want,

with gorgeous innards, outtards, perfect backside, top, and front.

No apparatus on this Earth intrigues me like you can,

my favorite implement to study since my world began,

for nothing’s like designing my own love affair with you,

 a work-in-progress, which, upon my death, shall not be through.

Euphonious

A symphony of word and breath and sound,

conducted by my lover’s vocal chords,

intangible, but fervently profound,

ephemeral, auricular rewards.

The oscillating sound waves reach my ears,

his exhalation warm, as is his heart,

as soon as I have heard, it disappears …

the impact will remain though we will part.

It comes to me whenever he’s away.

I close my eyes, pretend he’s here with me.

I’ve memorized, to in my head, replay

whenever he’s asleep or absentee.

There’s nothing in the world that’s quite the same

as how my precious lover calls my name.

 

adrenaline

heart racing

eyes red

throbbing center

throbbing head

toes curling

feet flexed

tension now

tension next

fists forming

blood boils

crippling fight

crippling toils

living raw

love burned

nothing gained

nothing learned

Awakening

I’d like to say there’s anything I’d do,

no length to which I wouldn’t ever go,

no epic tale of woe I’d not go through,

no gesture graced with love that I’d not show.

I’ll rescue you from structures pitched with flames,

I’ll carry you at times when you can’t walk,

defend you when you when your foe unjustly blames,

and listen to you when you need to talk.

But I will not stand idly by and watch,

nor keep inside my words which bear the truth.

You’ve kicked your self-destruction up a notch;

no longer is this folly of your youth.

I’d die for you … that’s all I have to give.

But one thing I can’t do for you is live.

Poetaster

“A picture’s worth a thousand words.” I, too, believe that’s true.

I wish so badly I could paint or draw to capture you.

But I can’t draw or paint well, so I write some verse instead.

No matter how I try, so many details go unsaid.

In lieu of those, I’d use the plastic art forms if I could,

by sculpting you from clay or carving out your shape in wood,

thus catching all your nuances that still evade my song,

presenting your sweet curves I’ve been in love with for so long.

All those things above, beside, there’s still photography.

I never get the light right, though, so much one still can’t see.

They never do you justice, so it’s poetry I use.

I’ll try until I die to glorify my perfect muse.

 I’ve used a thousand words and I’ve repeated several times,

piling high upon my shelves those stacks of meager rhymes.

The proper thousand words to use stay trapped within my mind.

I hope, if I keep searching, that someday, those words I’ll find.

Indecorous

In certain situations … such as this …

no matter how portentous or austere,

the funeral of someone I will miss,

or moment that should fill my heart with fear,

I find that what I want to do is smile,

then burst into a violent giggle-fit,

the kind that sends me rolling in the aisle,

complete with tears and toots and flying spit.

I know that it is wrong, but I can’t stop.

I’m sure that I offend all within range–

this woman laughing so hard she might pop.

I know that my reaction must seem strange.

I’m sorry that your member made me laugh.

True justice could be served with merely half.

Rain Dance

I love to spend my rainy days with you,

a good excuse to stay at home all day,

the freedom to do what we want to do.

Next time, there is a game I want to play.

I’ll drag you to the backyard and we’ll laugh.

Then, once we’re fully drenched, we’ll run inside.

We’ll grab a bottle, so we’ll each get half,

and lay down even though we’re neither dried.

We’ll both pretend we’re back in gay Paris

returning from our river dinner cruise,

so tickled our Parisian wine was free,

with soaking hair and soaking clothes and shoes …

then make love like we’re still in that hotel.

Instead, exhausted, fast asleep we fell.

Acid Rain

The tension flows freely and fills up the room,

condensing like dark clouds that bully the sky,

with clustering pustules that fester and bloom …

those unanswered questions about how and why.

Expanding balloons grow enormous and pop,

broadcasting a mist over all in their wake,

refusing to wilt, as their poison, they drop,

corroding facades, and exposing the fake.

Acidic remarks lash harsh stripes on the wall …

transmogrify love into caustic defeat.

They crush good intentions to dust where they fall,

ensuring destruction is swift and complete.

Stripes become solids, their coverage increasing.

Resentments pile high, exponential in growth.

Permanent statements– they live without ceasing–

obliterate all that was precious to both.

Freeze Frame

I’ve never seen you look so sexy as you do right now,

your sweet blond locks combed back with not one hair that’s out of place,

the signs of effort showing in the lines that grace your brow,

the sideways glance that’s hinting at the smile upon your face.

The muscles in your arms are taut, and ripple as you flex,

as they would do if anyone would use them as you are.

The light from o’er your head has caught your eyes’ soft hazel flecks,

illuminating, on your cheek, your fifth grade gym class scar.

If I could freeze this moment, I’d relive it everyday.

I’d take it out and cheer myself if I am feeling blue.

Of all the special characters that you, at times, portray,

the one that washes dishes makes me want to say, ‘I do.’

Mating Rituals

You see the bowerbird collecting trinkets to adorn

his bachelor pad so he’ll attract a mate?

He only picks blue glass and wrappers, ribbons that are torn,

arranges them obsessively, then waits.

Now look at tall giraffes, who have some curious foreplay.

A male will smell her urine, have a taste.

If he detects she’s ready, it’s a go for them today.

He then proceeds to mount her with due haste.

My human male, anticipating intercourse tonight,

prepares, like any species on the prowl.

With music playing he will get the ambiance just right,

complete with Kleenex, candle, and a towel.

All Those Things We Never Said

Let’s say all those things we never said.

Let’s sit down and talk until we’re done.

Let’s rewrite our history instead.

Let’s pretend our lives have just begun.

All those things we never said are here,

all those things we owe the other’s heart.

All those things we held back are so clear.

All those things demand that we re-start.

Let’s carve out new paths that intersect.

Let’s embark on journeys as a pair.

Let’s embrace those feelings we neglect.

Let’s no longer hide the love we share.

When We Kiss

I so love the way you still look at me when we two kiss,

’cause each time we do, there’s a wonder alive in your eyes,

as though no lips brushing on yours ever felt quite like this,

as though I intoxicate, giving you fabulous highs.

I think of a child with his presents when Christmas time comes,

your face lit, so grateful to find, such a treasure, you own.

The whole cake is not what you run for; you relish the crumbs,

like tasting my kiss is the greatest one pleasure you’ve known.

It makes me so tickled to know my lips bring you such joy,

that they are the cause of the grin you display on your face,

which shines through your manliness, showing your sweet little boy

who’s spent all his life searching for my warm kiss and embrace.

Splat

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*picture courtesy of PeterDargatz on pixabay.com

I’ve never observed you before with that look in your eyes,

your hair at attention, the veins bulging thick on your neck.

It took me a minute to comprehend, for me to realize

that you threw the punch that had put him face-down on the deck!

I promise you we were just talking; it’s not how it looked.

But still, it’s a compliment, you so protective and stressed.

I know that if he’d laid a finger, his goose would be cooked.

You sure made your point. He’s aware it’s for you that I’m dressed.

I’ve never before had a man start a fight for my hand,

and now that one has, there’s no need to repeat all this fuss.

You let me know that when it counts, my man will take a stand

and fight to ensure we two live our lives out as an “us.”

A Modern World

bjjb

Once upon a time in a modern-day world, I logged onto a dating website.

I looked for a friend or companion to hang with. I didn’t expect Mr. Right.

I read through the profiles. I flipped through them all. No one stood out from the start.

Then came an “interest” from someone I’d passed on. He set out to capture my heart.

In only two days, we’d exchanged several emails; he asked for my number to call.

The first time we spoke, this man asked me to dinner. Already, I knew that I’d fall.

Our date was so lovely, we both needed more. So I met him again and again.

In only three days from the day our eyes first met, I left behind all other men.

Somehow I knew that my life was completed. He voiced aloud what we both knew–

though we had just met, we intended to marry. Ecstatic, we both said, “I do.”

My friends and my family all thought I’d gone crazy, and nobody thought we would last.

I knew what they meant. I could see that, objectively, we got engaged way too fast.

After our marriage had lasted a few years, our story improved with passed time.

Now when we’re asked how long we’ve stayed together, we tell them, “This year makes it nine.”

Pretzels

Pretzels

Image

A Regular Day

*picture courtesy of GLady on pixabay.com

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  I breathe him in and taste his chest and face.

The forehead kiss he leans down to bestow.

That signifies that we are both in place.

I’m ever grateful on this ride to go.

(He says he wants to absorb me.)

The shadows catch the contours of his neck.

I take the role of lock, and he, the key.

I am but here on Earth…I have to check.

How still, his head, whose body’s slamming me–

(He could balance an egg on it.)

A glutton he has forced my body be.

I’m ruined now for any other sport.

Still twice a day…this gift he gives to me.

Methinks that none would credit my report.

(The look on his face is Mercy.)

I thrust and pull his body into mine.

He’s fluid, steady, powerful and hard….

We seat ourselves where lovers come to dine

and go about our love with no holds barred.

(I want to be absorbed.)

 Men since the dawn of time have wondered how,

and wanted to give what he gives with ease.

Of all the men, then, he should take a bow.

His lady’s first and he is set to please.

(She is also second.)

A healthy beast with stamina untold,

his graceful ways are far beyond just apt.

At full stride, he’s a vision to behold,

and when he’s done, I’m nothing less than rapt.

(He’s one of those people who’s good at everything.)

Thank You For…

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 Thank you for loving me even when I’m at my worst.

Thank you for always forgiving and then moving on.

Thank you for quenching all my intellectual thirst.

Thank you for skyping your love to me when you are gone.

Thank you for reading a book if I’ve told you you should.

Thank you for trusting my judgment when you’d rather not.

Thank you for being so tall and for smelling so good.

Thank you for cheering me up when I’m sad and distraught.

Thank you for wanting me when I was so overweight.

Thank you for saying I’m beautiful all of the time.

Thank you for being so patient when I’m running late.

Thank you for eating junk food as my partner in crime.

Thank you for being my rock when I needed one so.

Thank you for taking me, with my old baggage and all.

Thank you for being the wittiest person I know.

Thank you for running so quickly whenever I call.

Thank you for doing some yoga and buying a mat.

Thank you for helping me plant those vines growing so high.

Thank you for finding my keys, wherever ’tis that they’re at.

Thank you for giving vegetarianism a try.

Thank you for knowing so quickly that I was The One.

Thank you for sharing the interesting things that you learn.

Thank you for solving most problems before they’ve begun.

Thank you for sharing with me all the money you earn.

Thank you for planning our finances for when we’re old.

Thank you for settling in with me right where we are.

Thank you for putting your dreams, when you have to, on hold.

Thank you for living life’s story with me, your co-star.

Thank you for promising you’ll be with me till the end.

Thank you for holding me tight as we both fall asleep.

Thank you for being a loyal, compassionate friend.

Thank you for thinking I’m pretty as my wrinkles creep.

Thank you for all these and thank you for what is to come.

I know you so well and I know I’ll have more to add on.

Though this is still incomplete, it is far better than none.

But I’ll stop for now, as I see it is finally dawn.

*picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

Deus Ex Machina

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You don’t have to do this alone.

I’m here for you. I’ll be your crutch.

  I know you’d get by on your own.

I just want to help you so much.

No, I cannot say how you feel.

I know that I’ve never been there.

But I know my love for you’s real.

So please keep in mind that I care.

Grown men are allowed to cry, too.

It doesn’t mean that you are weak.

Just say what you want me to do.

I’ll be the warm comfort you seek.

I’m here in this difficult time.

 I’ll be like a harness for you,

I’ll give you support while you climb.

I promise that I’ll see it through.

So when you are ready, just lean.

I’ll catch you before you can fall.

I’ll be your own godsent machine

and smash through that treacherous wall.

*picture courtesy of flamenco on pixabay.com

What I Love About You

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   There are so many things I love about you, my sweet dear.

After much deliberation, my results are here.

I love that you delight in learning new things everyday.

You actively seek knowledge, and to you, it counts as play.

I love that you don’t ever mind admitting you don’ t know.

Through your quest to find the answer, I can see you grow.

You teach yourself such complicated things just from a book,

the kind, that for the author, a live teacher’s what it took.

When you make your mind up and decide to learn a skill,

you display such monumental focus and strong will.

When you learn to hone a craft, you’re always so damned brave.

Every bruise and scrape you get is dismissed with a wave.

I can’t count how many times I’ve seen you take a fall.

You get right back up and then again, you do it all.

I love the way you quickly fell in love with having cats.

I love the way you think I’m extra cute when I wear hats.

I love the way you give the things I love an honest chance.

I love that when we’re cooking we break into song and dance.

I love the way you know when you should scowl and say, “That bitch!”

I love the way you scratch my back when I can’t reach an itch.

Living with you means I always have great tech support.

I love the way that you don’t care at all ’bout watching sports.

I love the way you pet my hair each time we watch TV.

I love the way your very favorite hobby’s always me.

I love you never caring there’re no Anglos ’round for blocks.

I even love the way you wear your flip-flops with your socks.

I love all your encouragement to make me sit and write,

and that you love my cooking, and you tell me every night.

I love the way you pump my gas, no matter rain or shine.

I love the way you knew that I’d be yours and you’d be mine.

I love the way you love the chance to try a different food.

I love how you still treat me like when I was first pursued.

I love that you’ll come home tonight and take me in your arms,

exposing me in full to your sweet scent and manly charms.

I love that you’ll get up again as dawn announces day,

and work such long hours to provide and bring home hard-earned pay.

All the things I love about you, I could never write,

no matter if I never stopped and worked all day and night…

’cause there’s just no end to all the things I love ’bout you.

Through my words and poetry, I’ll see what I can do.

*photo courtesy of PDPics on pixabay.com

 

To Me From You, Part I

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Husband: I would write you a beautiful love poem like the ones you write me.

But I’m no good at it. It would be weird…uh…fiddle-dee-dee.

So anyway you’re a lot better at it than I am and it would be great,

if you did it. I’m sure you could write something that would really blow you away. So, I can’t wait.

Me: Well, my brilliant, darling man…I know that you do all you can

to make me happy everyday. So if you’ll kindly clear the way,

I’ll write myself a lyric rhyme that’s fit to stand the test of time,

just like you would want me to. It shall be called

To Me From You

( ahem…)

You are the perfect combination, all I want and more.

Your life and mind just fascinate me. It’s you I adore.

The first time that I met you, I hungered to imbibe

your every last detail and then upon your heart inscribe

my name for all of time, to take up residence right there.

I had to, for you’ve since possessed my only source of air.

I longed to pledge my love. It was so strong, I couldn’t wait.

I told you by the time we’d gotten through our second date.

One more day and I would ask for you to be my wife.

You’re the only person with whom I could spend my life.

Now that I have tasted of a love as sweet as yours,

I know a woman’s love can be enough to bring on wars.

Helen has got nothing and could not compare to you.

To have you here, there’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do.

I’ll do what’s required so you’ll live life by my side.

Before you, all the times I’d said, ‘I love you,’ I had lied.

In my ignorance, I thought I knew what passed for love.

Then I met you, and your heart would fit mine like a glove.

After just three days, I wasn’t sure that you’d agree.

But I still got down upon my sincere, bended knee.

You said yes, and ever since, my life’s been filled with joy.

Together, you and I compose the consummate alloy!

Nine years later and my love for you is still as strong.

Thanks for sharing life wrapped in my arms, where you belong.

–The End–

Me: Oh, honey! That is sooo sweet. I love you!

*picture courtesy of Olessya on pixabay.com

Hindsight Is 20/20

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If I’d worked my abs each day, I’d have a nice six-pack.

Instead, I tend to go ahead and fix myself a snack.

If I’d planted bulbs last fall, some flowers would have grown.

I waited far too long and now my chance for bulbs is blown.

If I’d planned my budget better, I would have those boots.

I just can’t seem to get my life and money in cahoots.

If I’d bothered setting up my cell phone warranty,

they’d replace my broken one entirely for free.

If I’d written down the passwords for all my accounts,

I would never write a check the bank would have to bounce.

If I got my head pulled out from so far up my ass,

I’d have stopped before we left and filled the car with gas.

If I’d checked my email I’d have seen the one from you.

I’d have read what you so kindly told me I should do.

It’s my own damned fault, which I wholeheartedly avow.

I plan to get my act together, if fate will allow.

I will make concerted efforts so I can improve.

I’ll try doing things of which I know you will approve.

Can I have some points for standing up and being brave?

 I’ve recently acknowledged your approval’s what I crave.

*picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

Honey-Do

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Honey bun, I need to get your help around the house.

Visitors are coming in a week.

Here’s a list, a couple things, that you can do to help.

Otherwise, I think I’m gonna freak.

I am with the kids from early dawn to setting sun.

I know that you have a job and all.

I’m still working all day even if it is inside,

teaching kids to speak and eat and crawl.

First of all, you’ve gotta mow the lawn, I’m begging, please.

Also, do the edging while you’re there.

I think I saw some anthills that “we” should get taken care of…

and I wasn’t quite sure if you were aware.

Also I’ve been putting off requests to mend the fence.

I know you’re already swamped at work.

I gotta keep reminding you so someday it will happen.

So, I’m sorry if I come off like a jerk.

Power-wash the house, ’cause dirt’s been caking on for years.

I just figure while you’re still outside…

Oh…and please take care of all the vines behind the fence.

Last year they dried out and all have died.

Sweep the back porch, clean the pool, and dust off that old grill.

Sift the sand box (to remove dog poop).

Then replant some flowers in the empty pots that sit and take

up all the room we have on our front stoop.

Propped against the carport are some boxes to break down,

underneath them there are leaves to rake.

I thought I’d take care of them but haven’t done it yet.

So I know their presence there is my mistake.

Hmmmmmm…….

When this started out, I had some indoor things in mind, too.

 But I don’t seem to be getting past our yard.

When I was a kid I thought my parents both were lazy…

I guess owning homes and raising kids is hard!

*Picture courtesy of Nemo on pixabay.com

I’m Begging You

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Please…please don’t come stand here this close.

Please don’t give me one hug or kiss.

Please…please no sensations like those.

Please don’t let me taste what I’ll miss.

Please…please put me out of my misery.

Please tell me that you feel the same.

Please…please, I know you aren’t at liberty.

But please, just once, whisper my name.

Please…please do it from over there.

Please let me have more than a yard.

Please…please let me know that you care.

Please…this is becoming too hard.

Please…please say it one time, then go.

Please. Then I’ll move on with my life.

Please…please…I’m just dying to know.

Then please run right back to your wife.

*picture courtesy of pixabay.com

i’d rather

i’d rather feel grass betwixt all of my toes

tangible proof that from dirt new life grows

i’d rather be under a big tree tonight

watching its limbs sway, its leaves catch moonlight

i’d rather be looking for pictures in clouds

guessing what skeletons their shapes enshroud

i’d rather catch fireflies in old mayonnaise jars

creating a universe glowing with stars

i’d rather be hearing a nightingale’s song

closing my eyes and forgetting what’s wrong

i’d rather be holding your hand while I do

only one thing could improve them; that’s you

Unicorn

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Growing up, I had the finest mother that could be.

She was full of love and gave the best of life to me.

She told me that she never lived within a happy world.

She said she’d been depressed since she was just a little girl.

I have a sister, one, and she is older than I am.

When we were still just kids, she’d scream and hit me. Wham! Bam! Bam!

All these long years later we discovered that she’s sick.

She’s bi-polar, and in finding anger, she is quick.

Then there is my father who’s a mean and nasty jerk.

Always getting fired, he could never keep his work.

After he got violent, Mom would finally get away.

When I have to see him now, I don’t know what to say.

My first love was jaded ’cause he’d been abused at home.

Neglected and mistreated, he’d been often left alone.

Try, though, as he did, a healthy viewpoint was not found,

even though I did my best to keep him smile-bound.

Two long years I dated, then, a man who in plain terms

was crazy ’nough to make the most outrageous nutball squirm.

I almost didn’t notice ’cause I guess that’s what I knew.

Admittedly…my outlook, from inception, was askew.

So it’s no surprise that, first, I married a young man

who battled with depression and a short attention span.

I wished I could be enough to make him happy. But…

I couldn’t and eventually, we both just gave up.

Then one day, a man appeared…a man who’d change it all.

Immediately, to his arms, I’d run and swoon and fall.

A well-adjusted unicorn pranced up to my plateau!!!

I had always wondered what it’d be like. Now I know.

How nice it is to have someone who’s not depressed, instead!

We fell hard, and soon the two of us were newlywed.

Afraid that I will spook him, I approach him with due care.

To take my past out on him is a move that isn’t fair.

I try to keep it reigned in so he’ll stay right here with me.

He says he’ll tough it out if I should lose my sanity.

I don’t want to lose it. But I know that if I did,

I would not be garbage of which he’d want to get rid.

But despite assurances, I still get scared sometimes.

So I write my fears out using goofy, verbose rhymes.

Thanks go to my unicorn, for saving me, once more.

He’s proven life exists outside depression’s haunting lore.

*photo courtesy of jes872148 on pixabay.com

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