Lefty McGee's Open Salon Blog

bitter pill

Fri, 10 Dec 2010 16:12:15 -0500

Understanding the moment.

Understanding the foreplay,

an intimate coffee shop

with bodies pressed together

for warmth outside.

Rich bitter pill of coffee

for heating the inside.

A smile shared

for warming the heart

and perhaps other parts.

The eloquence of a tongue

is more

than just words,

it is also in the delivery

of emotion.

Emote for me darling

with eyes closed,

sheets clinched,

and suffer

one more pleasant little death.

One more daydream.

One more sleepless night.

One more

cup of coffee,

bitter pill indeed.

Time to yield

yield my solitary

table

to someone

else.

Notes

Thu, 3 Jun 2010 02:06:20 -0400

So is it middle C,

solitary key on the piano

that resonates

within the soul?

Or is a love letter,

perhaps faded and tattered,

maybe stained with tears?

There is no tomorrow,

there is no yesterday,

and today is draped in black.

There is only night,

the middle of the night

with shaded memories

and rueful thoughts

what might have been.

But what might have been.

Was. Is. Will never be.

So let me kiss you silently to sleep.

Silently so as not to wake

the living,

the dead,

me.

I’ll write you a note

…tomorrow.

RE:

Sun, 2 May 2010 11:05:21 -0400

I went to reply

to her reply.

A missive passed between lovers.

Casual lovers,

just a little more than friends

with benefits.

Except we haven’t really

found what the benefits are yet.

Sometimes I hope, though.

But I went to reply,

typing out my heart

making sure I edited in my desire,

checking the spelling

on my most decadent thoughts.

Then I hit delete,

to exorcise my remorse

and lost the message.

It was as if it never happened.

I never replied.

Open Call - My Life in Three Sentences

Tue, 27 Apr 2010 22:04:12 -0400

It's all about the words.

I hear more when I am silent.

No matter what she thinks, I do care...a lot.

Old Fool

Sat, 10 Apr 2010 00:04:28 -0400

Strange how the mirror ripples
ripples when I touch it.
Strange how my face triples
in the pain.
Wait. That should be pane.
Weary in the night.
Teary in the night.
No tears were shed
in making my mind up.
Turning my bed down.
Turning my life upside down.
Reaching to the right
for that pillow
that hit the floor.
Too late, to catch it
Too late, to catch her.
Sound of silence
rather than breathing
except my own
and someone crying.

What passes for dreams,
dreams of schemes
and sorrows,
borrowing sorrow and sight
from her eyes,
wondering what she sees.

Doesn’t matter the day.
Two converse in silence,
if at all.
Either finishing each other’s sentences
or not hearing a word
spoken. Heated frame of reference
limited to a hot kitchen stove,
Sunday dinner with smiles,
especially during holidays.
But after that excuse,
all is quiet.
Arid emotion and sensible shoes.

I dreamed of sex last night
in summer fields and pools
of water and blue eyes.
“Trust me,” they said,
“and love me always.”
So what if blue turns green or gray?

Foolish pride and forgetting to ask
for directions.
Losing the way or lost along the way.
Needing to stop and forgetting
where I put the brake.
I have forgotten where I put a lot of things.
Others I know where they are,
but a day becomes a week
becomes a year.
And still I forget to take them out.
But I haven’t forgotten how to say,
“I love you.”
Sometimes I think I have forgotten
when to say it.
Other times, I wonder if anyone cares
if I say it.
I must,
just be a fool,
because I still remember why I say it.