Letters to Dandelion by Xve Page A

for your luscious body,
    as
it dances sexily in place.
     
    I
believe you care for me,
    but
just on the surface.
     
    While
I rage in my heart,
    to
hold you all day.
     
    My
tears will trace a line to
    wherever
a land.
     
    My
arms are not long enough
    to
reach you, but my words are
    felt
to me - to root, then bloom,
    then
die.
     
    I
just don’t know, if I will ever
    see
you again. Tomorrow is promised
    to
no one, and have a safe trip can
    spell
anyone’s end.
     
    I
just don’t know if I will touch you
    again.
And what a loss to the museum
    of
senses that tragedy will be.
     
    I
just don’t know if I will hear your
    voice
again, or your laugh, so I may
    as
well go deaf.
     
    I
don’t know if I will feel your love
    again,
or if I ever felt it, so let’s be
    real.
     
    Nothing
in life is ever wasted. And
    there’s
no point to even writing a poem.
    But,
it seems more that all things are
    carefully
planned in this spray of mist
    so
fine, interwoven and grand.
     
    As
I said before, we are tiny droplets of
    water,
falling to the floor, and meeting,
    bumping,
rubbing up against one another
    before
we eventually dry out and
    disappear.
     
    I
was destined to have met you. We both
    agreed
about this in some other form and
    some
other reality.
     
    We
intersected on the blueprint of life,
    and
what a fucking large print that was.
     
    It
was planned that I would love you,
    chemically,
physically, mentally, emotionally,
    who
knows, maybe we snuck out, away from
    choir
practice when we were once Angels in
    heaven
to do our thing.
     
    Yet,
with all that surety, of watching the lines
    of
our lives draw together, and feeling the
    passion
I have in making love to you.
     
    The
plans in my head, the grand designs to
    a
life we could live, and a love we can have,
    I
just don’t know if you’ll ever be mine.
     
    So,
I wonder who will love you again.
    Who
will be lucky enough to re-win
    your
heart. Because all things are scripted,
    and
nothing remains the same.
     
    I
just don’t know, how I will live,
    after
I don’t know where you are.
     
    The
only thing I do know is,
    right
now, I’m in love with you.
     
    For
all my words, I can’t describe how
    I
will miss you, maybe, as if my guts
    were
scooped out with an ice cream
    scoop.
    I
know I will cry for you,
    and
I will hurt for you.
     
    and
I will never stop loving
    you.

Mack
Truck
·          There’s just no point in asking …
    ·          Reckoning
    ·          She don’t care
    ·          I have nothing to offer her –
    ·          Separation is to death …
    ·          Pursuing …
    ·          Pinch the Wall
    ·          A long night of letting go
    ·          Swing Batter
    ·          Love Dies like a Child
    ·          What do you do … (but feel the pain.)
    ·          Dandelion
     

There’s just no point in
asking ...
     
    No matter what is going on,
    you are caught up in the moment
    of getting.
     
    And though I am doing all I can
    to be correcting, my words fall
    like fine China into the grinder
    of your foolishness.
     
    As you reach for running gears
    and shredding shears, I try like
    a silly boy to employ measures
    of safety, security, love and care.
     
    I always say, the way is not easy,
    so why try to find that lost way?
     
    Your heart is bent on foolishness,
    and sold on emptiness, you attach
    your concerns to wickedness and
    are enthralled in deceptiveness.
    It is just my guess, that God must
    love you too, to shadow you from
    inevitable doom.
     
    But, what am I to do, seeing the
    true you, in an array of emotions,
    desires, a fire in my heart to have
    you like no other, even though
    many before me had already come.
     
    I am pathetic and stupid, more over
    so because I keep placing my heart
    in the road, and falling in the trap to
have it close on it and bust like a blood
filled water balloon.
     
    No trouble, no worries about me,
    I’m the punchy