I miss telling you you are beautiful.



September 5, 2012

It crept in, through the thicket, wet steps
& paralyzed me (I froze)

“I thought I was chomping at the bit.” (Tit for tat)

The doughtiest, you salty dog.

I seldom falter or stutter into a trap not of my own divisiveness or fervour.

Wreckage and old words (forlorn) surface in the puffy plush faces of breaking waves,
to my chagrin,
more times than I’d like.

Blow after blow.

And all I can do is say, “Thank you very much Sir, for making this real.”

All I can do is pound my hand into my chest like a barbarian.

Because I know what men do when they head for the sea.

I know because I have been one.