Wrapped-up charms and thoughts twisted in her
I yell over the sound of her body screaming
Disjointed like a two-year-old just pleading
for the attention of a girl
whose only name is the I-don’t-know
Could you be my summer romance?
I’d let your fingers drown in my flesh
while I kiss your moonlight cheeks
small, irresistible scoundrels just reflecting the sunlight oozing from my mouth like
molten popsicles in heat
We’d drive convertibles over paved black
the kind that’s open to couples who
caress while driving
and argue at inefficient stop lights burning like wild fire
Your hair—holy hell!—the indescribable
Waving goodbye to bits and pieces of red
Remember when we were kids
and you’d smile wickedly to remind me I’m an outcast?
Me neither. But let’s pretend we were raised in a small town, where the weather forecast
predicted the outcomes of a chance at love
As if the gods knew (and winked)
Once upon a time I held your fragile body
Raindrops rolling over your tired skin
A dog was trying to cause the
“Once bitten, twice shy”
But I had already bitten into you like my
Edenic fruit of heaven
beneath stormy August and July skies
I’d never betray your secret whimpering
made up of wet kisses and candles
Your inexplicable hatred for all things explained by a reasonable mind
just waiting to solve you like an equation from last year’s calculus
where the answers lay in the back of the book
Pretend we must—for the poem is ending
Like your jet-blue eyes, twinkling
And then dawn arrives.
Stars getting fixed to shine
for yet another night
another couple that’ll throw around phrases fossilized
in the “I love you”
Where were we, then, on that night?
Did you hold me to pieces
or did I somehow escape you like Houdini
Slipping through your garden, stealing
memories of us in Eden
making love to the sound of God
walking, searching, seeking
the two of us out?
Or were we both just reminiscing beneath the firmaments
where Zeus played harp for his wife Hera
while she cried over us, her renounced children?
I hope so too. If you should ever bother, please do recall the shivering in my primeval body
naked and legendary
And how’d we go from convertibles to candles to mythical tales?
From romance to anger and mythical fables?
Ah, such is love when young and restless
bound to the infinite
hanging like a crescent
moon in a sea of stars, reverberating the past and future
Shall we kiss now? Again? Or is this the fate of an illusion? I’m spent.
I’ve been to the future and back again.
We’ve even made love in time’s past,
where only the Song of Solomon could incorporate our beauty,
making use of puns and gestures I laid on you
So, beloved, what shall it be?
I’ll drag you into the abyss while you
Kick holes in my eternal heart
We’ll break up.
Let’s write-in “The End”
for a poem that was meant to be read
in the future by another couple trying to outdo what cannot be outdone
We could fight about our disagreements like little children
arguing over dolls and candy wrappers left scattered
on a basement floor
Where secret corridors
remind them of where to hide next.
But we’ve grown.
So send me a letter instead.
In it you could write about the
who stole your hand
for a little second
held it while a lazy summer
full of bad flicks and shows
came to a stop when he stumbled into your world
of kindness, magic, and sensuality
You could write about the part
where I struggled hard
to say what I felt for you when the gods gave us language
For I swallowed words before
I ever learned to cherish their sparkle
on my tongue, to hear them coaxing you into my own culture
This summer romance could be a big hit
with incurable romantics next year
who attempt to drive as fast as we did
when your dad found out that I was adoring his daughter in the backseat
of my…shall we express the inexpressible?
Refuse, refuse, refuse! We’ll refuse to share the Milky Way smiles
you shed on me while
I laughed near you that one time
our boat got caught in the rain
and the waves rocked the two of us into a hypnotic haze
which found me day-dreaming of your elegant lips
necking me from dusk till lit
Was it just a dream? Or were you really trying hard
to impress this man you once wrote about in a journal
full of artwork and scripted notes?
You must have been singing in the shower when you wrote
that. Or are those tears of joy soaking in your lettered ink-black?
Is my name written in your Book of Life, “god”?
Did a part of me get washed away
while your eyelashes bounced above my printed font
Drip, drop, drip, drop
Mixing salt and water with breaths of sputtered blood
My mind was a loose canon
exploding to the colors of your fashion
As your aesthetic appeal ignited my once-and-future romance
to the sound of a band playing music
that seemed to have been inspired
by my loud thoughts as they brawled with you
If you were a book, I’d have written all over your pages
Markings flooding the text cryptically
Hiding codes and novels sent to a publisher
who’d have his eyes ravished by vampires
drunk on my ardor as he read the lines
But you’re not a book; you’re a fleeting dream
Made of cotton candy ice cream
and the sound of feet
stepping on pavement that’s been chalked up in amorous graffiti
with edges having dashed hopes
Let’s pretend our passions won out
As we walked past bouquet shops
having windows which displayed
a short skirt matching the affection you had tried to lay
to sleep as you watched behind closed doors an infinite regress of he-loves-me for he-loves-me-nots
After that I’d settle down into your mattress bed
and tattoo the shadows which danced
On your ceiling as I counted your heart beats slowing into a merciless feeling
of heaven and hell.
And you’d finally rest.
While you slept
I’d quietly whisper poems written when our eyes first met
the shimmering of a dream-blue
That would haunt me like delicate petals dropping from an angelic vault
robbed by thieves who released them on you
They said, “All pretty things must end”
with voices dipped in contrition while you and I were still together
Gazing into each other’s eyes believing
that over the sunset lay another sea
full of misplaced kisses with youth unceasing
just pleading to be dreamed
Written by: Moses Y. Mikheyev
Dedicated to: L. S. (with hints of K)
I’m currently writing my first novel, a dark romance, titled “The Seduction of Koroleva.”