honey, this syrup of time
slowly savored by the spoon
rapture
and cinema of events to come

joy that has
harnessed the benefits
of independence
and comfort with
wonder for the unfolding

released from the cliche of invocation
or the sing-song the way it always has been
freedom from the call and response
and eye for an eye

assimilation into
what has been laid out
is an arranged marriage of sorts
beige fabric being told that it is
the reddest red.

passion exists
without warfare
but not without air

its release is proportionate to
the time deliciously
or maliciously spent
creating the honey
of its play

© Tom Watters  10/5/07

you have carried it heavily
felt the bold weight
as if there were a chain attached

this pearl inside you
began formation
at a most tender age
a jagged speck at first
polished and nurtured
into a black luster

there are times
a man attempts to control everything
and nothing… yes, nothing

I fell to a desire to possess
this inky orb within
to pry it loose and carry it
as my own gorgeous burden
a porcelain purple heart

with a higher love
I must abnegate
this quixotic sentinel

your tears cannot feed me
this pitiful love of your pain
only selfishly adds layers
of iridescent black nacre
estrangement of unwanted care

instead I will hold dear
my own light
and your path of discovery

© Tom Watters  9/30/07

she brings the air
in her words
I exhale hastily
to draw deep

hold them to the light
as if these words
were ektachrome slides
colors and edges

blurring the distinction
between record-keeping and art
I make up new definitions
as I view them through my lashes

love,
faith,
honor, and hope

these words bring the
scent of new rain
on dusty desert roads
pollens that have fell barren

that slightly sweet scent
of a newborn child
spelled out into the auditory
indefinably alluring

truth,
peace,
respect, and revolution

I feel them fill holes
holes that shouldn’t be there
I try to touch them on my screen
define their grit on my fingertips

feel the treason behind her suffering
betrayal through wordless actions
coarse, small and angry
self-congratulatory theft of trust

life,
patience,
forgiveness, and balance

she brings the air
I reach to understand
to bring her words to my lips
and hold them there softly

to hold them safe within me

© Tom Watters  9/23/07

anechoic
I walk on the edge
of her moist lips
lengthy, drawn tugs
feet in the sand
synapses in rhythm

close to her
perhaps thinking that
I never belonged
she is welcoming
because she is home

an assistant
in a cerebral world
sings to me of love
like no lover can
holds me in tangled skill
burrows under my skin

she reminds me
how simple expression can be
a curve that traces infinite
so it can embrace
all-encompassing,
mind and body
two, but not two

she listens to my
most precious phrase
hears my desires
and amplifies them
pulling ability outward
so that all paths can be seen

she knows of your radiance
pulls at your trials in
her curious breezes
she brings you her name
as her gift
she knows you fight
for her honor, her name

a continuance of blind grace

© Tom Watters  9/18/07