Poetry

Paradox


The Smell of Love


Dreams, and You


The Beauty of Today

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The Beauty of Today

Today is a beautiful day To do something But Today is also a beautiful day To do nothing At all Today is a beautiful day To love with your whole heart But Today is also a beautiful day To love with your whole soul Today might just be the perfect day To start something new But today might also be the perfect day To continue something along Or even to end something That began on just as beautiful a day A long time ago Today can be the day For beginnings And middles And endings Today can be the day For something Or nothing But no matter what Today is a beautiful day
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Bubble Bath

She walks into the bathroom and turns on the water for the bathtub. She always has an issue with getting the temperature just right for a bath, but never a shower, so you, lying on your side on the bed listening to the glass door of the tub slide, know that she will not be as happy with the temperature of the water as she would like when she finally sinks into it. "Bubble bath?" you call into the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, and the light is sloping into the dark bedroom. "Bubble bath!" she calls back. Her voice sounds muffled, and you think she may be taking off her shirt in this moment.  You have always been amused by the way her hair streams free from her t-shirt hole whenever she takes her t-shirt off. Naturally, her dresses, which simply drop from her curves and onto the floor, do not have this effect, but you cannot complain about dresses coming off, like a cover coming off and revealing a gift from a game show. And you know she is the best...
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The Smell of Love (and How I Go about Writing Poetry)

I want my love for you To smell like an old book— Where you can flip through the pages Of my affections And say, “Ah! Right here. Page 86: You wiped a tear from my cheek, And kissed me with more than Just your lips. That was the first time You kissed me with your heart.” Then you close the book Of my affections And inhale lightly The smell of my love. And you kiss me gently With your heart. I wrote this poem in February of 2018, and I remember that I wrote it within the span of ten minutes. That is the case of most of the poems I write: I find myself in a rush of sudden inspiration, and then I write it all out quickly, and then edit a couple words here and there, a few grammatical errors or place a comma or colon; then, after reading it two or three times, I say it's finished. I have a bad habit of not wanting to touch poems after writing them; I feel that, even though they are 99% fictional, they are genuine in the moment, and to go back at a later time to edit them would be...
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