potent potables and wanton-bitchyness-quale

a poem I wrote recently about the past:

Winter Heart

Yours was the body of this valley
Which I had fallen into
Smelling like freshly trodden loamy earth
And as the frost spread upon the scenery
You became the first winter of my heart
But my love was frost bitten
Benumbed nerves of purplish peeling skin
Like bruises left by rough lovers
Who knew what darkness was harbored in my soul
And while I lit your skin afire
You were not willing to jump upon this funeral pyre
I was but a distraction among many
A resting place until your next adventure
Left to be discarded along the highway
of your childlike ways

I wrote this the otherday when I was sad:

Holding Pattern

cotton woods flurry with rage
like these tears that can not fall
and the hot air is choking me.

as the lazy rain drizzles from the sky
I remember these feet are on solid ground
yet I have washed up upon this shore
with my gnarled dry white bones

this is all I have brought with me
a burden of desolation
and potential not realized
in is this garden we shall lay ourselves down
among the vile things
which we shall forever walk among.

...........................................

in other news, at the wedding I was told I looked like Lisa Loeb, that made my day.