a jade glow from
the flat screen produces
product of memory
falls lightly like aerosol
I think of your eyes,
countless petty thefts
longing in that calm color

sleepless and dim
my window breathes
with the scent of a pepper tree
your hair close
and spicy with
the same slight perfume
proffered miles away

the warm satin of
your skin, kneading
lithe sinew in your body
I listened to your heartbeat
while you slept once
it was my favorite song
absently tracing my lips

fields of negative space
make pictures in the plains
your waist and thighs
landscapes of you
painted in my recounting
pthalo blue and burnt sienna
powdering nights like these

© Tom Watters  10/19/07

tenuous at the wick
you still left a pool
molten wax and
unanswered want ads
personals circled rather roughly

you loved me
for my words

my significance
idealized in a flash-card
practice of sorts
reminder that there
are “these” out there

with brighter whites
and bolder colors

silk will wear well
in these years, yes
clutch this memory
reverberant sounding board
of hard tack

a good novel
no illustrations, please

so yes, I am proud of you
your pennants dancing
brightly in crisp gales
the wake of your forgetting
will curiously instill some in me

© Tom Watters  10/17/07

surface resplendent
golden flecks of mica
tease underneath worn,
wrinkled foot-pads

boring internal fires sizzle,
sputter into composure
dangle results in the face
of fear, cold, and envy

these shores hear pleas
welcome new lust
chase homeward
horses of discord

pure is the result
of equal motive
the jagged rock transformed
into a sensuous touchstone

building a fortress
impenetrable, yet yielding
divine with the color of passion
light without heat

© Tom Watters  10/11/07

need visited last night
she presented a marketing campaign
shifting shapes freely
ignoring my brand allegiances
I felt wanted again

taking form as a house,
dark sunglasses, an umbrella
something she could hold onto
when her lover withdrew
behind his dark secret curtain

I was hungry
she presented herself
as a red apple
wearing the mask of original sin
savoring irony in each bite

void of actual sweat
she made her entrance
as a bouquet of fragrant blooms
immediately began her fade
while marking territorial pages

temporal is the shape of need
typed in low-res eight point
she sent the word love
through digital static
this emotion became both

she disappeared, sated
back in the arms
of her vane morphine

no need, for now

© Tom Watters  10/6/07