closer
relegated to attempts
it seems as though
my prime
will be spent
shopping in circles
furnishing a house
of contradiction
my fingers
too large to caress you
my quick breaths
voyeuristic gales
gestures too grand
everything clumsy
adoring
distant
futile and coarse
without the peace
that comes from scale
I buy a tiny lamp
with hope of
illumination and warmth
sometimes
the world
is the smallest world
in the world
closer
© Tom Watters 7/10/09
from which bottle
was this transience released
this idea of companionship
fed to a confusion of pairing
which calendar of flavor
gave this mocking assessment
found us embarrassed
wearing white after labor day
whose open mouth
danced wetly, without prejudice
sang embroidered words
then formed excuses of betrayal
what wooden wheel
carts the season back
blooming again as expected
like guys and dolls do
on broadway
© Tom Watters 5/5/09
these tips
shunted over wires
misdirected, these prints
miss textures
subtle, presented in atmospheres
not forgotten
denied, if not forsaken
soothing
natural
familiar
telling corners
of her smile, frown, question, joy, loss
these fingers reach
for that seen
grasp
for the things to be heard
stroke
to comprehend scents that read like novels
playing horseshoes
in the powdery snow
enjoying sentiment
and not
a clue
as to the results
© Tom Watters 2/4/09
defiant traffic
my nervous circuitry
reads aloud.
the luck of black crickets
chirping for pay
in the smallest of hours
in my ambulant walk
night goes off,
safety engaged,
cautiously out of
the crosshairs of her kindness.
we never went to India,
never snaked across sheets.
laboring in the seconds
just before knowledge,
and its textbook betrayal
I dig into my pocket
fumbling to discover
a swatch of musky silk
the cool leather of a rose petal
some proof…
I find forty-eight cents.
© Tom Watters 12/2/08
tawmnation 