Stiletto Staccato

They're as high as the sky
powerful and so full of pride
the sounds they make
and the long legged stride

I'm obsessed you see
with the sound of your gait
the stilettos shine
and the sounds they create

I think it might be
the pretty painted ten
or maybe the way
your footsteps are zen

down the hallway
I hear them come
I dare not look
I will surely succumb

but look I did
and succumb I will
but its soo worth it
for that glorious thrill

for what is man
but a admirer of you
at least that's me
with that perfect shoe

your heels pay you
its homage they give
for the privilege to reside
in the place where they live

those stems so pretty
would be nothing without
the flower at the end
and its delicious clout

I'd travel the world
kiss my momma goodbye
to reside in a place
down the street from your thigh

I'm not a creep
I swear its the truth
I don't mean to be crass
certainly not uncouth

but I lose control
when I hear the sound
of heels tapping pleasantly
on the solid ground

Poetry or Bullshit?

do not feign ignorance of what I speak
for it is you who trespasses my mind
how dare you smile so innocently
if only your face reflected the sorrow of my soul
then your potency would vanish
and up in smoke
the image would evaporate
were it not seared into my mind
then perhaps I could live
but instead I am haunted
by visions of you
I see your hair in the wind
the ocean's mist surrounds you as you gaze sweetly at the sunset
you are only a stride or two from me
yet it is an eternity away
I once caught a whiff of you
I awoke with the distinct feeling of your kiss on my lips
and yet the scent of you entranced me still
you were not there and you are not here
you reside in a place not quite real
and yet not far away
the future cannot hide you forever
a day not long from now
the kiss I feel and the scent I smell
will not evaporate with the morning
were it not so
I would surely beg dismissal from this cruel game of life

Poetry or Bullshit?

Liar
Don’t think me naïve
I know the realm in which we play

Pinocchio’s playground
Your favorite place to plot

I’m savvy to the nuances of your necromancy
Though you play the fool’s fiddle

Hoping the siren’s song
Will leave me lost at sea

Your deft fingers strumming
The guitar of guile

Seductive schemes
And subtle subterfuge

Yours is the palace of the plotting princess
Perfect in all ways—save one

Poetry or Bullshit?

sometimes I wonder at that magnificent blunder that brought you to me. Though still I may be blind I've got nothing but time and patience is mine for eternity. I'll hold out till the end for you my friend because nothing's as sad as the absence of glee. And yet may I make it clear to you my dear that my love is anything but free. It comes at a cost and love is best not lost because love is the point don't you see? So until that day comes when my affection becomes a flower wilted and weak. I'll do my best and trust God for the rest because really it was only your attention I did seek. And like a flower needs a shower I too needed that lovely hour when you would grant me a peek. A look at your beauty a glance at your grandeur and I'm lost without words to speak.

Poetry or Bullshit?

Untitled:
You’re a collection of glances
Each of them stolen
And all of them the contraband of my dreams
My imagination is no substitute for your beauty
And like the addict I’ve become
My appetite for your loveliness is no match
for the shortage I endure

You are also a passing flame
Impossible to grasp
Ever elusive,
Ever entrancing
When I close my eyes
I still see the shadow
Of your scarring beauty