read to me
your voice, it
calms

I lose myself,
eyes microscopic
on a strand of
beige acrylic carpet

depth-of-field varies,
like puddles forming
on the balcony.
this fucking rain

can I get you anything?

stroke your shapes
through steely linens
your lips full
spent, and wondering
I perch my index finger
on mine, pursed.

shhh, baby
he probably loves you,
some people retract.

he’ll call
you’ll see.

I hum a soft tune,
dig my nails deeply
into my tense shoulder
stare off into the tears
crying in sheets
outside the window.

I remember all the words
in my sleep.
valedictorian
of this class

© Tom Watters 2/12/10

green lights,
green tea
pinwheels of refraction
a barker to the winter air,
on the Santa Monica pier
hushed by the reflection
of the surf below.
holiday tinsel trash.
a gold bow grows
from the sidewalk,
where we once laid
shoulder to shoulder,
just to show passers-by
that we didn’t notice
due to love.
your misplaced repentance
my salacious banter
late promises,
late spring
now in the crisp air
I have known you long enough
for the texture of your skin to change,
for my anger to lose its boyhood.
I pluck this bloom up.
smile at my foolishness
still waiting for you.
hum a Russian sounding melody
which curves the dancing lights
toward Beverly and Kensington,
toward you
my odd home.

© Tom Watters 1/28/10