Paper Chick

All I wanted was 
to make paper 
planes with you. 
To sleep in 
till noon on 
Sundays.
A smooch  
here and there 
and 
a forty-gallon 
fish tank full of 
pink seahorses.
Who would say
that our story 
will end
with unforgiven 
two hundred 
and fifty dollars 
for playing footsies 
and 
urinating blood 
in a
public bathroom 
sink 
after your guardian 
muddled my guts.
Smiles are free,
You said.
So I smiled.
And that 
gave you creeps.
You can't keep 
me on the clock
while I miss you 
until someone else 
shows up
and make all 
my fancies  
come true. 
But know this 
you could've been 
the most beautiful one. 
 

Women’s Eternal Nature 

The blue light from 
the radio receiver 
blinked off-frequency. 
A breaking voice spoke
about the storm looming 
over the city. 
I looked through the window
The flash root itself 
down into the sky 
causing havoc. 
Raindrops knocked 
on the windowpane 
like children's fingertips 
carried by the wind 
trying to hold onto something. 
The world might 
not be here tomorrow,
but she still draws 
a perfect outline 
around her 
lips and eyes. 
A pucker in the mirror 
and a bite 
on the linen napkin. 
Her mist smelled of medlars. 
The order emerged nude 
out of blocks of chaos.
Coiled curls 
and tan stockings.
She was the acme 
of the storm 
that bent the palm tree 
and broke it. 
Who would have known 
that so much 
grace can fit in a small 
leather casing. 
The world 
will not be here tomorrow.
It’ll move to the corner 
of the room,
in front of the three-winged mirror 
and its naked light bulbs;
inside her kabuki brush resting
on the rouge-stained cloth. 
The world is a temporary measure, 
but her pulchritude is imperishable.