But I Do

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You shouldn’t have flirted.
You shouldn’t have put your arms around me.
You shouldn’t have touched my hand.
You shouldn’t have put your hands on my body,
But you did.

I shouldn’t want you.
I shouldn’t crave you.
I shouldn’t stay up at night dreaming about your touch.
I shouldn’t want to kiss your lips.
But I do.

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My Marriage

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I married him.
You know, my best friend.
Wed in a barn,
with whispers of a shotgun.
“It was lovely, it was perfect.”

She was beautiful.
You know, our daughter.
The best moment of my life
was hearing her cry.
“An Angel.”

We bought it!
You know, the house.
A place of our own,
Where our family can grow.
“It’s a great start.”

I should be happy.
You know, with the story.
“It should be enough.”
But it’s not. . .
“Happiness comes from within.”

I didn’t know what it meant.
You know, to love someone.
Not until she came into my life.
Now, that I know. . .I know.
“He gave you your daughter, you have to love him for that.”

I wish that I felt. . .
You know, passion, desire, love.
I hate that I don’t.
Maybe I can’t?
I wonder what my mom would say.

Why Not?

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It’s just a spark.
A tickle, a giggle, a bitten lip.
That begins a journey.
A story worth reading.
A secret never shared.

It’s just a kiss.
Come close, touch me, I want to feel your breath.
A decision; a desire.
Passion, spontaneity, lust, infatuation, curiosity, uncertainty?
Please, close the door.

It’s just an evening.
A moment; never enough.
Please, don’t wake me up,
Let me dream, let me pretend.
Kiss me, one last time.

It’s just a secret.
A mistake?
A revelation?
So many questions.
Will it happen again?

It’s just a spark.
It’s just a kiss.
It’s just an evening.
It’s just a secret.
Why not?

Untitled

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I try to write things that rhyme,
but I can’t always seem to find the time.
It’s hard enough knowing what to say,
and to say it in that special way.

To make the words jive and flow,
they have to make sense, don’t you know!
For if they don’t, you will see
It simply isn’t poetry.

All this writing frustrates me,
Why can’t I just be lazy?
Why can’t I like pictures instead?
Or painting things pretty red?

But of course I had to want to write
About autumn days and summer nights.
There is no easy out for me
A glutton for punishment I must be.