On my sweater still lingers
your scent so sweet.
I walk the streets,
past the beach,
but my walk’s incomplete.

I think of your eyes;
wistfully dream of your smile.
I wonder if you think of me;
wonder if you do so while
you walk the street, past Shay’s, toward the beach.
Have you forgotten? I’m still within reach.

A note to myself:/
Stuff romantic poetry/
on shelf. It’s too much.

How does a wise cynic see/
receipt of romantic poetry?/
Through jaded, pessimistic eyes?/
With drawn out, disbelieving sighs?/
Or with smiles of “Could be!’ whimsy?

Our town is lucky/
2 have a Woman like U./
I think so as well.

She is an attention w*ore./
Give her limelight,/
she wants more!/
Mo’ bigger. Mo’ brite./
Is that fair 2 say?/
Is it the right call?/
More? Now way!/
She wants it all!

Once a, always a,/
isn’t true to me. Ignores/
possibilities.

This haiku morning/
saw me greet the rising sun/
writing emotion.

Chill is a strange pill/
some can’t completely swallow./
Muse calls: we follow!

Like nuclear bombs,/
silence’s poison, unseen,/
kills most from inside.

I complain too much./
I am Eeyore, destroyer/
of relationships.