How Many Frogs Do I Have To Kiss?

Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes and gray

Which one should I kiss today?

Tall, short, or somewhere in between

I’d kiss you all, but what does that mean?

Floozy, hussy, old maid and slut

Would be whispered in conversation as I strut.

Indecisive and tired is how I’d describe

This age-old diatribe:

“One day a prince will come to sweep you away!”

But will it really happen that way?

Waiting and hoping for him to come

Usually just make me feel desperate and dumb.

Traveling, working and vacationing worldwide

You’d think all that banter would just subside.

Yet, more than anything, I want to fall

For some Casanova who’s got it all:

Great job, good car, a house and a dog

Who’d kiss my feet even if I turned into a fat hog.

Cinderella and Bridget Jones both figured it out,

So I suppose I shouldn’t fret or doubt.

One day my prince will come, all gallant and strong

And I’ll just say, “What took you so long?”

Bleed My Stone

The sincerity of your words seems unfounded

This love you’ve conjured for me created amidst the heartache of blandness

Floats as a cloud above both our heads like a cloud of doom...or impending sunshine.

How can the nothing that was have created a something so miserable to miss?

I play the part of a girl in love;

A girl whose heart was stolen from her unwilling, caged chest.

Walking was a fumbling, trepidacious experience;

Now I float on air.

The tides will turn.

I know this to be true.

The feelings of excitement and comfort aren’t steady.

There’s an unease with knowing it’s too good to be true.

A catch.

Perhaps you’re a slob.

Perhaps you clip your toenails on the front stoop.

Maybe you even, god forbid, replace the toilet paper in the wrong direction.

I want to savor the perfect reflection.

I need to keep the pristine view within reach.

The comfort of knowing the truth brings us closer to an end I fear we will face.

Isn’t there a way to covet all the perfection?

To hide my own imperfections, to be exact?

Front to cover and back again.

That’s how you want to know me.

Know everything about me.

The good, the bad, the ugly, the ridiculous, the deal breakers

Why?

Why can’t we sit still and indulge the perfection of the moment when we’re still enamored of the everything?

technicolored dreams

Love flourishes in the remnants of our dreams.

Memories may escape us - 

Dear moments once treasured banished to the far expanses of our minds.

Touches become ghostly traces on our skin - 

Trails of tenderness and passion morph into echoes  of dormant caresses.

But dreams.

In dreams, the shut up boxes of old memories that reside dust-ridden in the recluse corners of our thoughts emerge. 

One by one, the flaps shutting out  the daylight of our reality from the memories we keep creek open. 

The spirits emerge slowly from them like a genie from a bottle, ready to fulfill our wildest desires. 

The smoke materializes into the fresh faces and views of our past that converge into what our dreams are made of. 

Love is of epic proportions - 

the people you loved, who loved you, whom you longed to love all burn like torches of the hottest kind.

Angst and rejection pierce like needles through the skin - 

Leaving open wounds bleeding to slowly torture each victim.

Our inhibitions suffocate or absolve us.

Our passions suffocate or absolve us.

Our luck suffocates or absolves us.

Dreams leave everything to the imagination of "What If..."

Touches may become ghostly traces upon our skin,

Memories my escape us,

But nothing escapes the technicolored world of our dreams. 

lips

the difference between you and i only exists in the space that separates our lips.