Rp Verlaine writes

In the Echoes of Silence

for Theresa Lee

Alone

wanting to see

as if with your eyes

the time we spent together.

In the midst of strangers

who begged for nothing

but distorted amusements

we found easy to give.

Years later, alone

in a hotel in Spain

wine tastes like your lips.

With each new glass

I hear your voice

in the echoes of silence

I cling to.

For the immensity of mistakes

your tongue left in

my mouth...

to end all conversation

speaks to me now.

Rp Verlaine writes

The Bandits 

 

Ask me again knowing I will come.

Are wise to give naught in return

taking hours that only

seem free.

They steal the currency

I can never keep.

They take the clothes

I've never worn

and borrow books with their

return much in doubt

and yet I'm glad

to see them

out from my self imposed prison

and near monastic practices

I've talked myself into.

These bandits

I come to them with hands in the air.

Rp Verlaine writes

After Hipster Boyfriend 

 

With younger men

she went straight

to the bottom 

 

of the bottle

its glittering vacuum

of broken glass. 

 

When it ran empty

her younger men

stepped around shards 

 

eager for her beauty

inviolate yet nihilism

does its own retouching. 

 

When I walk

alongside her now spare

as any change. 

 

These dime store

losers approach her

empty as ice wagons 

 

overturned by rain

with the smell of new

they ask for sex. 

 

She'll be a diversion

and they hers until

dull repetition 

 

leave her in pieces

for me to pick &

put back together.

Rp Verlaine writes

First Week of Football

She hates football

Opening day

She fights fire

With napalm

Putting on my old uniform

And the pads too

then removing them

One item at a time

during the first half

Did a wicked hell

Of a dance at halftime

So...

I don't know who won

I missed the second half

 

Rp Verlaine writes

A Kiss 

The parting gift you gave of your sweet lips 

after our walk by flowers in full bloom 

Spring's magic touched us both and then a kiss 

on mouth then neck you gave this afternoon 

I'm now unsure of its meaning or intent. 

Was it designed to wrap in mystery 

endearments to come or simply invent 

fantastic thoughts born of base vanity?

Worse, was it nothing but a sweet goodbye

or a pass you knew I could not ignore?

Such is my state to wonder if and why

an innocent parting seems so much more 

till a song comes to mind to tell me this 

till otherwise a kiss is just a kiss. 

Goodbye Kiss -- Raina Liwen Yang 

Rp Verlaine writes

Knaves or Angels 

Love's a ruffian seeking its pleasure 

its contrast of joys to devilish pain 

giving false hope while snaring its measure 

unbridled it leaves and returns untamed. 

A knave is love who plays a dirty deal 

with less than a glance or touch it blindfolds 

long enough to find a heart to steal 

then scampers gone unseen as winter's cold. 

Yet loves an angel, not a brute at all 

its wings the sweet trapeze that lovers fly 

till brought back down to earth without a fall. 

Knaves and angels, playing their parts too well 

as to which am I - I truly can't tell. 

Trapeze -- Andrew  McMorrine