This, My Heart Eloquent Never Speaks

This, my heart eloquent never speaks,
because it is easier not to say how
the way you smile easy and laugh softly
sets my blood boiling fingers poised
held back to keep from touching your
thin lips; I like you too much.
Your easy way of taking space
as if you negotiate with the universe
so that it accepts you and incorporates you
instead of forcing yourself into its fabric,
makes me stutter and fail to tell you
how I long for your hands in my hair
red ribbons between artists fingers.
No, this my heart eloquent, will never
speak; because I love you is a trap.
Yet today as we tangled thoughts
over sustenance I found myself wishing
that your eyes found me an apple
to be devoured on a Thursday afternoon.

Faded Lines

My fate etched deep in these palms
I find no longer seems to worry me.
It will happen as it must.
No hurry, haste, or careful wait
will change a probable outcome.
I let them worry and wonder
at why my silence is no longer
sedition red and violent;
a daily syncopation of the heart.
Age wears its subtle smoothness
across my mind, unfolds its crags
of worry into Everest proportions.
I will keep this peace.
Nothing, not even your prying
will change that.
I want nothing of yours so do not
seek to destroy this Tibetan retreat.
Fate cannot be circumvented, you
may only stuggle in your bonds;
useless, growing older.

So Once We Were in Love

April love fades into the heat of of June
and I wonder how those candy hearts
on the floor with their invitations have
grown lame and lamentable if not
all together sorrowful in their garish
dyed pink witticisms.
So Once we were in love like everyone else
until something changed that I could not
quite figure out. Couldn't place my
finger on it because it was happening
out of sight in hotel rooms where
conversations not stilted like these hearts
these damnable hearts were echoing
against curtains. A stranger introduced you
who was my friend, yet it is I that sits
tattered red and pink heart in hand
throwing these hearts
these damnable hearts
away for fear I might read one
that promises you love me
when I know you love me not.