A Young Lovers Slow Dance (day 208)

Romantic getaways slowly fill the empty voids that creep up within the spaces
Hold tight the angels in the night, they call upon open windows from creeping vines
Precious laughter bottled into a fragile carafe, carefully flirting the rim of desire
Holler! Young lovers in the night; heed not the glowing numbers hovering lazily about your frame
Capture what makes sense within these bronzing statues staring gaily into the night
Play the keys of that slow song, heavy with personality and strong with soul
Dance, young lovers. Dance slowly into the night; find penance amongst the empty voids

The Good Things (day 175)

The heart of gold
The bubbles in a champagne flute
The dots on the i’s
The fragrance in the flower
The sun behind the clouds
The laughter from a child
The rainbow in the rain
The pride in a win
The clean sheets after laundry day
The A+ on the report card
The warm soup on a cold day
The tears in Casablanca
The full roll of toilet paper
The sunlight on the sea
The twinkle in the eye
The smell of sea salt on the wind
The clean pair of undies
The dollar down the couch
The full fridge of food
The last piece of chocolate
The window seat
The final keystroke
The cookies in the oven
The secret admirer
The phone call from mom
The belch after a fine meal
The slow song with a dance partner
The look from across the room
The old noir film, with Audrey Hepburn of course
the pressed flower, forgotten in a book
The fall leaves, brilliantly shining
The secretly witnessed kiss
The friend at the front of the line

~ This poem is a collection of the conversation my dear friend @thelongsilence of twitter and I had, discussing the illustrious @tjpou, who you can gather each of our feelings towards in this dialogue. For the record, I started it with “The heart of gold”, and we alternated from there.

No Silence (day 36)

In spite the effort, a skillful retreat
I’ve long forgotten what once was a feat
I’ve pushed the boundaries
Beyond all knowledge
I’ve pushed understanding
Into corridors long since silenced

But yet there belongs a chorus of laughter
Deep inside like spitting banter
Trying to ridicule what decent scent of abomination
Still left inside can sometimes whither
Unsuccessfully chasing
The glory days to reign
Amongst the eyelids who persistently clasp shut