TO BLUE

A desultory morning bobbed amongst

The ripples of ache and longing

Skirting the shores of your thoughts

And arrived at this evening ennui 

Tomorrow never comes 

I hope tomorrow never will

Now all I want to think is that you love me 

And pray for solace in that uncertain claim

Time

As the hours grow quaint

... faint, even

And weariness and crow's feet 

Emerge in morning mirrors

'Ten years hence' 

Looms like a phantom 

How would I remain that

Which you desire? 

EQUIVOCATION

Strange is the heart; it keeps stock of infidelities

With utmost care, and the breaking of promises

So many of my lovers have been undeserving

And yet, to feel tenderness, affection, almost

Strange is the heart

MUDDLED

Some cold, drowsy mornings
Awaken a sense of loss
Misplacing something vital, but
Je ne sais quoi

Absent-minded mornings
Blurring light and sleep
When I cannot recall if
I dreamt of you last night