Scorcher

She comes to me with points of view

That I have never seen

Exchanged for words I’ve never used

Locked somewhere in memory

I’ve watched her carefully undressing

For the night would soon be long

In a little room above the town

And the sun to be gazed upon.

She danced and twirled in my mind

Refused some sort of joke

Though bits of humor pour out like wine

Blowing kisses; just like smoke

Her angel skin and eyes as bullets

Chase me back to where I belong

Mistook me for some sort of poet

And a doorway to be leaned upon.

The mattress dry but her palms so bare

The winter window broken

Halfly chosen words, halfly closing eyes

And the room left halfly open

Friends seldom seen and have no voice

Mutter love in quiet song

Leaving her and I to talk of choice

And a future to be dreamt upon.

She pardons me with a gift of truth

That not one love can recreate

And the aching in my heart of youth

A bad seed tries to duplicate

My fits of anger are often blamed

On the ones not with me; gone

And sometimes passed to others same

My closest to be prayed upon.

Indifferent schemes of loneliness

And an idealistic passerby

Cannot come close to what they’ve missed

When they pass both you and I

Have faith in most you’ve seen and heard

But do not base it on

An empty column, word for word

And the times to be read upon.

She tends to those who are often hurt

Her presence then, she will bless

A muse for those who have no words

But a bookshelf to confess

She will never trouble me with the ways of the world

When most everything goes wrong

‘cept maybe those who’ve seen our love

and our son to be cared upon.