Atom Bomb

You shot me point blank

with your smoking gun

semi-automatic

heart.

Charming spectacle

convincing sparkle

in your eyes –

An addicting, blinding,

white hot

like the sun in the summer

but carrying the effect

of an atomic blast.

I soaked it in

and was dust before

the boom.

The Wrong Questions

If I hadn’t met

you,

I wouldn’t have fallen

in love

(although you weren’t

in love with me – incapable,

you said)

for the first time.

Said it out loud to those

eyes

beautiful eyes, like

mine

(but mirrored to mine

because you are

the opposite of me).

Am I Narcissus,

then? Am I

self-indulgent

or do I love

the darkness more than I like

to admit?

(to admit to you I loved your shadows,

fiery red)

Tired of Normal

Often I tire

  of too bright

a Sun

       A constant loudness

        she sings

 Soprano

to me

  weary concert ending.

I tire of pangs of others

      drum beat problems

beats same

      problems

        same

   beats.

I tire often but

  not of you

      Serendipitous breath

    in and out blindly

   lovely

breathing

         living I do not

tire of

Living of

    you.

Futility

Like building our homes

at the edge of the sea,

we put our hearts

in the hands of lovers.

Being as close as we can be

to the most beautiful thing –

the sun, the spray,

the dancing blue.

We gaze far, far –

ignoring the etching of land at our feet.

We know it can destroy us

at any time.

And often hope we die before it does.