Tag Archives: young love

Last Night In Eden

Ally’s house is right on the county line.

I could head on south to Madisonville,

then Atlanta, or further to South Beach.

My car is filled with the smell of her

menthol cigarettes, sweet and harsh,

it’s even in my clothes, in my dreams.

Maybe she wants to escape this town,

head to where the action is, where there

is hope for magic or dreams coming true.

I pull into her house, small and sensible,

a tapioca yellow, with an American Flag.

She’s sitting on the steps, smoking in the cold.

I get out of my car and sit beside her, and she

puts her head against mine, and I kiss her head.

She stinks of cigarettes. Her hair smells like strawberries.

Even out in the county wilds there’s too few stars.

But the North Star is up there, and it can guide us.

18 now, both us. legal and free. We could run away.

Pizza joint, back in town, Friday Night, packed place.

She smiles at me, and we play footsie under the table.

We giggle, eat our pizza, pretend we’re not adults now.

Graduation is coming up, and she’s calm. I’m silently exploding.

Maybe she is too. Always seems calm and collected and with it.

Maybe she’s just like me and won’t show distress, let blood in the water.

We drive to the other end of the county, to the mountains.

Above and at night, the city is beautiful, full of magic.

At night anything can happen.

We sit on the edge, and we talk, and we kiss, and look up.

She lets me reach inside her jacket, feel her up above her shirt.

She lays her face in my neck, sighing, her breath hot.

We drive back towards her house, her smoking, smiling sly.

Her favorite song plays on the CD she made me. My heart is full.

If I keep driving all the way to the sea, we will be perfect forever.

I walk her to her door. The light is on. Parents watching TV.

She kisses my cheek, smiles.

She says good night, greets her parents, goes to her room.

This was the last night in Eden.


Libraries Are Solace

The high school library is ours.

The hallways and classrooms

are left to the ghosts of our youth.

We spoon on a couch in the librarian’s

office, with the sleeping bag, comforters,

we brought from our homes, when the end came.

The sky is grey, end of November, cold is here,

and our city burned and the world kept on,

and we took solace among the pages and tales.

Stories we loved, and study halls and lunch periods

spent writing and reading and dreaming, finding joy

and love when the first bright blue of spring came.

The world spins as our world ends, as all fades away.

We make a world in the only place that ever was ours.

We hide among the wisdom none of the others want.

I tell you tales, whispered in your ear at night,

of an aging knight and a quest for the grail,

and the letters he wrote home to his impossible love.

And the library has it’s own ghosts at night,

the starlight through the windows by the ceiling,

and fires a million light years away are silver sweetness.

The classrooms we leave to gather dust, and the hallways

are too full of our regrets when we thought our dreams

might end up coming true.

Just us and the pages and tales and wisdom no looter wants.

Just us and canned stew on a butane stove, and our dreams,

and the escape of each other’s warmth in the cold, cold night.

Sacrificial Delight

The desert coast, the melting, technicolor sunset.
The derelict bus was burning. Sacrificial delight.
In your robe like white dress you danced and laughed.
We were high. We were touching the stars. We were free.

Long, thick black hair and dusky skin, eyes brown like moist earth.
I filmed you, they eye in eye seeing you, youthful and beautiful
and with the starlight of Alpha Centauri shining through you,
were you soul was forged eons ago in fire and an angel’s breath.

The stars were coming out, and you smiled at me, and I captured
it all, all the dreaming and madness and endless nights of love.
The derelict bus burned and we were high and we were free,
and I could into the very center, where that shard of a star was your heart.

Goodbye my lover. In heaven we will be free and bright again……….


Black, Persian Curls

I dreamed of her, with her head of black, Persian curls,
and her dusky and warm skin, not like the other girls.

The snow on the mountains seem so distant in spring.
I dreamed of kissing jasmine lips, of giving her a ring.

She was a stranger from across a bright, blue sea.
She wore some other face, but I did not turn from she.

On a spring afternoon we talked by the soccer field.
The sun so bright in our magic, left a dream unhealed.

And she spun the words of countries long past.
Of golden ships with silver angels on their mast.

Once, I held her hand, as stars peaked through twilight.
Her love, her dreaming angel eyes, where my delight.

In my dreams it is spring again, and we are young.
There, only there, did I kiss her as my wife, as bells rung.

Outside The World

Emma and me, outside the party, outside the world.
The night is warm in the first of September, clear, open.
We talk as if we could still walk among the stars, like children.
We talk as if the world never fell, and paradise was still here.
 She lays her head upon my shoulder, and I kiss her head.
Her hand holds mine, and we are warm, clean, like Eden.
She turns up her face, and I softly kiss her lips, taste the apple.
Her hand on my face, such sweetness became the fall, forever.
 The sky is filled with stars, and the moon moves wild tides.
She hung her name somewhere in Andromeda, for me to find.
Find her name, find the spell dream and desire and lust have cast,
as loud laughter and thumping music betray a perfect night.