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Fondly, ~Your Mistress
I made an exception—
You made a mistake.
I can sleep alone with the credit—
You can't sit down with the blame.
Put your head in your hands
Make sure important people see
You're doing your best
But you—you never stop looking
At me.
Dear, I know I did it
But at least I wrote it down
It's oh-so-sad your alibi
Is always leaving town.
We drifted halfway off the map
Without ever once touching the door
We stopped and started in your room
Stand up or I'll join you on the floor
—I've been waiting for you.
Give me your hands; give me your mouth.
This, the beginning, is the light
That can't write itself out.
Burn the meanings and the pages that bind
—I can't get through
And you have made up your mind.
Put on your clothes
I'll drink the ink from my pen
I swear I'll keep us in pieces
—No one will ever know what you did.
Oh my. Not 'I'll see you soon'—this time you said 'Good night.'
And I know you well enough to know—you never Deviate and you never say good-bye.
Forgive me.
You will always have an effect.
When I turn out the lights and I dismiss the crowds, You
—Are the only ghost left.
~September, J. K.
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Beneath the Rose
Please weigh your thoughts for me.
Keep my silence with a smug hand of cards.
You're all spades and aces lately
If anybody knew, they'd blame me, not you.
Oh I—will work on feeling guilty
Oh you—can rest assured I'll pay.
If obligation calls, just say I've jumped to take a fall
And I won't be back today!
Oh, you give me hell.
—No one ever suspects the pleasure I get from it.
But everybody knows you're in last night's clothes
—So you bolted through a fire...just to dance on the Coals.
Stop—standing in my doorway
Come here.
The only words that I have left are Please and Yes
—My impasse was always clear.
Kissing you is like sliding underwater
I might calmly drown
Suspended and gently tended by an errant tide
Every breath is conscious of its sound
—There are prayers beneath the surface and sirens Further down.
My hands were never tied.
I knew—and then I met you.
Nothing I can say
—No risk I can claim or silence I betray—
Can ever equal or convey
How my life just...changed.
~October, J. K.
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Good Whiskey, Sad Jazz, and a Short Dress
Take off your gloves.
Take off your tie.
Undo the first
—Two—
Buttons
On your shirt.
—And relax.
(Leave the hat.)
How do you like your wine?
Rare and ruby.
How do you take your scotch?
With peat, smoke, and ash.
Ah. Would you care to have a drink—
With me?
Yes, darling. You'll be—
My favorite glass...
Good whiskey.
Sad jazz.
and a
Very
Short
Dress.
—You knew it would be trouble
And yet, you're here.
And yet, you stay.
And yes, you're looking at me
Like I'm wearing your clothes.
—But this is not a small town
And I am not your first ghost.
Go home!
I'm so glad this is New York, and I
Can skip the goodbyes
Tip my hat
So it hides my eyes.
—Why am I the only one watching my hands?
Could it be
The subtleties
Of my performance
Are only for me?
Hush. I don't think I love my lover...
—But I'll be good to yours.
See, someone burned a secret in the dry red wind, So!
Oops! I made a promise I will not be caged in.
Don't forgive me! Don't ruin my fun!
Somebody once broke my heart, and I haven't Earned
Another one.
***
Don't mistake grace
For patience.
Don't mistake "please"
For vulnerability.
***
The room is veiled in amber smoke.
The depths are neither dark
Nor silent
Since the sirens woke.
But the surface is on fire,
Everything hurts,
And nothing floats.
So she moves a little closer
Says, "Stranger. Hello..."
And with green, gleaming eyes
And a sharp, red...smile
Says, "My.
What a strong-lookin' rope.
Tell me—does it bind
to your heart?
Or does it wind...
'round your throat?"
And then it's up against the wall!
Here's to makin' out like we're sixteen and starved.
Hey now. I'll see you
when I see you.
But when I see you
—It's on.
Just don't try to keep me.
I've got a long walk home.
***
But I will never get
to sleep. tonight. so take
your
time.
Just don't mistake satellites
for stars.
The destination myth
Is yours
—Not mine.
Go home.
Go home, go home, go home, go home.
~May, J. K.
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A. Lucciola
I have nothing to confess.
If you don't already know...
I'll just have to accept
That you are willfully slow.
Catch me in a delicate mood
I'm somebody's little girl—
In a gentleman's suit.
I am not a fool.
I threw matches in the dark
—You married metaphor to proof.
I think you're curious
And I think everything important to me
Is suspended by faith and a string.
If your intent
Is to redefine my limits
Then you're frighteningly skilled
And getting better by the minute.
Give it away, give it a go.
You have your life to write—mine is a show.
Be still.
Let me stay.
I don't know what I want—
But I know what to say.
This is the deep end, darling.
And you've been swimming here before, undressed In an open door.
I'll be your first, and it's about time
I've been staring at your mouth—
And it says you have a dirty mind.
Everything means something
And something means nothing to you—
You're the brightest streak of lightning to have ever Crossed a room.
And just as quicksilver both fights and fills its frame
Silence moonlights as love
Until it slips—
And says its name.
~From June to May (and not the other way around),
J. K.
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Wit's End
Please wait!
Don't leave.
I'll twist the plot, and I will save the scene.
The story's flawed and all the pens—they're pointed At me.
Everybody's got all these ideas
And everyone expects.
I just take more time than I've paid for
—What's coming isn't here (yet!)
I'll find it.
But—oh—it's going to cost.
If I agree to love, then I agree to its loss.
Get ready.
We're going to break each other's hearts
Don't ask me where we end
I know how we start.
'Alice,' she said. 'Where'd your lover go?'
'Did he leave and somehow know you'd...find him?'
'Darling,' I replied. 'I crossed my arms; he went Outside.'
'He'll make his way back.'
(If he took the right map)
Luck. There's room in the budget
And no spell to construct it.
It all depends on who's listening...
Who's watching, believing, and who's keeping time.
There will always be gamblers and favors and debts.
Long memories. Short-term friends to please.
I'll see you on meaning, and I will raise you on Rhyme.
The odds are stacked, I know.
My heart is breaking new ground in my throat
I had it all worked out
I forget how it goes
—You'll have to trust me.
'Will it always be like this?'
'Yes. No! I suppose? Maybe so. I guess...'
Why do important people always ask me questions I Can't possibly
(Honestly)
Answer yet!?
I
Am
Going to
(!)
Feel this.
And when I do—
I want all the shades.
Cut the music.
Kill the lights.
Follow me
Offstage.
~Once upon a birthday, J. K.
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