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

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