Departure's Price To feel what isn’t there is all I need this far into a one-night adventure, daylight now ends. Wanting her to tell me nothing, except lies that would convince a clock to move forward to no return or a pause at the precise or rumored false step any love demands more than once... Around which we skirted, skilled as puppets who can do little more than entertain even when the applause is neither obsequious or false. And now the price of departure, a tax wanton drinking and lust begets, awaits with receipt... As we linger in a paid for bed without the energy for lies, I check messages that say nothing. While she watches, showing no emotion, a copy of me, trying to figure out long after the last kiss how to get out of this with a grace we both lack. Knowing this was a mistake and the new day only a chance to make more. K2 Driving to the airport, its nearly dawn turbulent dark skies and dim tiny stars my lone company- the radio's low. Trying to make sense why so much has gone awry or failed to transpire so far. all faith submerged , lost to the undertow. where life seizes you and then flings you down until you’re prostrate on knees or the floor someone shouting ten and you’re counted out. I'm driving to a new start and new town. It wasn't love K, you closed all the doors I kept knocking still, with all of my doubts. K, I see your face with its vague sad hope its goodbye tears, it wasn't love but close Beginnings Do not ask me of others, let’s start fresh. As if we were rare seedlings in the spring sprouting promises with our sweetest thoughts rooted deep beyond earthly wants of flesh. Beyond true love’s lost dark imaginings pale jealousies , tides of mistrust wrought. Let ardor beckon, wondrously new we’ll be its play things, puppets in a dance. outside the present to postpone regret by giving love each day its place, yet true to ourselves, mocking fate’s uneven chance diving to we know not, and come out blessed. So let’s begin, without a sin or stain after I ask you this-what is your name. Her Blank Canvases Home dining alone or with one who cares she claims she’s happier since the divorce won’t marry again even in a dream. When asked if she still paints, I’m made aware passing fancies and hobbies run their course as does a lover lost in the midstream. Where I drowned in drink after she left me to go to Paris with a man she thought loved her and did till the money ran out. While I stayed servant to the tapestries of color and wild imaginings caught in a canvas awash in reckless doubt. When I say I still paint, there’s dead silence ah there’s much that dies without violence. Truncated Affair You can kiss each of my tattoos, she said, if you buy me one. I asked about the scar on her cheek. She was silent, not wanting me near wounds, healing or unhealed. We made love, our confidence misplaced in a bed where excitement’s rush & its dichotomy to both discover and hide were the wrong guides to entwine us past the temporary. She was precious, much as she denied it when sober, which was rare. Each morning, pouring me coffee, she'd do two lines, check mgs, leaves me 2 poems someone else wrote a disquieting challenge I never clearly won or lost. When we traded kisses, I'd win every time it didn’t count. Real or imagined, her smile is always enough to earn her tattoos. Trouble came in a script for a movie she began to think was us... In real time arguments, complications, violence, plot twists to an ending. Predictable, even with all the rewrites. Her goodbye, open ended evil, made truth out of the lies in the disconnected thoughts of her I can't disconnect from now, unable to sleep i'm no longer awake without some cost. Imagining only her ink stained body again leaving mine unmarked with its sweat almost clean enough for purgatory.