Not there

its not there you know
i've looked and looked
under couch cushions and inside books
but its not there

i've listened to your stories
looked deep into your eyes
but it's not there

i'm playing scrabble with too many letters
and the pieces do not fit
i can rearrange them a million ways
but its not there

putting together furniture without instructions
never comes out right
and i'm going back to the store
because i've got a screw loose
but its not there

you're tying me up
or tying me down
and my imagination is running wild
but its not there

want

its late at night
eyes heavy with smokey intoxication
i can feel my desire
rising between my legs
shooting up towards my core
raining back down
sliding onto my thighs

Suspcicions

an odd mixture of hubris and fear
lingers around my thoughts late at night
when I suspect everyone of secrets
where my own lack of discretion
is just enough rope
to tie me up in knots

and I fear that he has lost interest

his caution stirring only apprehension

dampening lust and dimming hopes

and I fear that my ex-husband is reading my poetry
secretly viewing my desires,
coveting my disappointments and disaffection
searching for clues to scandal

and I fear that she will never speak to me again

her anger and resentment builds a wall

of deeply entrenched bravado

it competes with the righteous indignation 

in my own heart

facebook

at night the profiles become like channels
that conservative cousin who's rants both infuriate and amuse
your long lost childhood friend and her happy family
best friends and bright acquaintances
all flip past in quick succession
their lives devoured in snippets

loyal ties are but gossamer threads
cut quickly at the first sign of true emotion
conversations swim in the shallow water
where the strong tides of opinion
lap listlessly on the shore

this false connection is all static
inept rage unable to connect
trading punches  and jabbing with sharp elbows
marshaling armies of likes
a meadow of thumbflowers on the fields of mars

HB

lost in magazines
and television shows
adrift amidst distractions

but a distant satellite
to some long lost southern son
some skinny dark woman from your past
frankincense and mir
scent old albums where I search for your face

snooping through things
like a girl lost in her mother's closet
a deck of cards, a pale blue comb,
stories about you are just an affectation of affection
something one says to keep from saying nothing at all.

Gambling

Two gamblers
their eyes slits across cards
played close to the vest.

soft green velvet
muffles the clink of coins
with shaky hands
the gamblers ante up.

the swoosh of crisp paper
dealer takes two
and doles out none,

and now the war
it escalates
rivers of tension rise
far above the levy gates

flooding out reason
with emotion
blinding everyone
to bigger bets and
bleeding losses.

two pair of dark eyes
lay down all they have
a full house
the flush of hearts
despair