Love poems…

Love flashed on and off

He had a wound record,
A rite of passage
Two fingers of gin
And all sweet hell;
Out of his handgun’s sight
A naked night stood straight,
He let his victims squeal
Then the red velvet blood
Inched its way out;
Not of grief or mourning,
Vagueness was enough from
A smoking revolver.

Big private detectives are mostly
Little men with dark, shadowy
Offices, yet he had knack for
Smelling out the taste of the
Stupidest part of his clients,
Especially the ones he fell in
Love with, especially if the color
Of their eyes were lapis-lazuli
Blue; their hair the color of
Red, fiery dust; tall with lots
Of rouge makeup in the right
Places, and a look that stabbed

Him in the heart like a dirk. He
Never had to look hard to find
Them, they always seemed to
Be in the right place—standing
By his window sipping in the
Groundswell of traffic in a big
Angry city, feeding him all the
Answers like pennies being fed
Into a gum ball machine; and
Constantly getting the same
Color. One, however, had a
Score to settle—and she was

Hungry for revenge. Finishing
The drink she had been offered,
And being slightly tipsy, drew a
Rather pointed knife from her
Clutch. You must be congratulated,
My dear, how deceitfully clever,
He said with a certain hollowness,
As he stuffed his cigarette into
An already smoldering ashtray.
But not clever enough as he fired
Off one round from his gun
Which was neatly available in

His desk’s top drawer. The spill
Of her blood was slightly halted
By her quivering hand held over
The entrance wound in her stomach,
He mistook playing luck far too
Long. Handcuffed and arrested,
Was sent up a muddled river
By his nemesis, a judge on the take.
You won’t like most of the cons
In the joint, and they won’t like you
Too well, his raspy voice clamored.
And the coffin velvet inched out.

Love flashed on and off


I struggled towards the light

Only when
as a water shade I touch your memory;
I touch you with my

Bands, bands, bands of time
away the hours of you,
and un-pulse forever, grasping
beneath your skin
until time dries you out,
whiter and whiter.

I am helpless and desperate
in a nightmare-
I meet the apparition of you;
I feel you
one more time,
your smoky hair curtains your

Flecks of your skin
like whitewash,
I am parched for your
I am in a dead walk
in a dream.

I smell the sea holding you up,
I wonder,
is this the beginning
and shall
I be with you, my love.

I struggle towards the light
in the barren,
stormy existence
of you;
pulse and pulse
in the bag
of night-
brush your lips with mine;
a moment for
our souls.

I struggled towards the light