I-phone Love

Endless seas spell the eternity of depth
By which my heart beat, when I saw you —
With your face in your I-phone.

I played the delicate game
To plea my love, to tell you how I felt —
While you were glued to your I-phone.

I finally got through, what a moment;
But soon I found you yelling —
“Not now, I’m on my I-phone!”

We held hands as the sunset glimmered
On the shores of sands beneath our feet —
As you were texting on your I-phone.

And when I finally got the courage,
To bring you a ring, you mumbled something —
With your I-phone keeping your gaze.

I couldn’t help myself, feeling sad,
When the doctors had to surgically remove your I-phone —
You said, “It’s not so bad, I have two hands.”

In the hospital I brought you flowers,
Hoping you were on the mend, only to find you asking —
“I thought you were bringing my I-phone?”

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Time’s Up

What is that presence I feel?

I can barely make the image, my mind reeling from the exertion, from crushing the wine glass in my hand.

Crystal shards glimmer and sting, long and dripping blood streams trickling to the floor, and though I’m content with my bottled rage, I feel the presence, agitating the moment.

Who are you? Is there something I can help you with?

I had been recollecting my thoughts, gnashing my teeth, by the memories of an icy hatred, when I realized I wasn’t alone.

And as the blood dried I felt the truth working its deathlike fingers around my heart.

Had the years of my volatile shame taken form, by the sound of a midnight clock?

Could I no longer stay the shadow that bore — that amorphous emotionless shape — the weight of my infinite sins?