Poem as Empty Words of Love

We are dead words equipped with sounds,
like pretty mannequins with guns
propped up against the parapets
fake-protecting a fort called love
and not even knowing it. The
susurrus of silken kisses,
neck on neck, breast caressing breast,
naked, exposed, but not undressed,
dead words touching, promiscuous,
lips feverish—mellifluous
gibberish, beau geste.

Cool

Undecided the fan sways,
facing me then looks away.
Like sun and shade (in reverse).
Crawling up my fingers first,
the calming cool parting the warm,
round my elbows, up my arms,
massaging my neck and cheeks,
breathes me in, as it creeps.

But Looking Back Tonight…

As I look tonight I see a clock that is cracked. 
My muffins tucked in bed, so we’re alone perhaps, 
the tree aglow in red, and all the presents wrapped,  
a Lego set for Kat—But face it, facts are facts! 
You smashed the clock (recall: my gift the day we met), 
and broke the twenty-year-old glass. Your bags been packed 
for years inside your head.  And yet I’d grown attached  
to whispers in the dark, addicted to your scent….
Though you left, it was your orchid pillow I kept, 
and for years and years I hugged the pillow and wept. 
You recall the nights I kissed the curve of your back? 
Hurts me you never truly loved me, loved me back. 
Now I know the thing was just a lie, was an act... 
But tonight I’ve you, my happy family, back.   
And looking back tonight I see the clock…intact.