if

I am screaming at you
in whispers,
for all my
throat clenching
and teeth gnashing
you get
feathers bouncing
on bubbles,
and I do not know
how to get my
point across
without encountering
a smile and a wink,
I sit at the kitchen
table with my head
hung low over a too
cold cup of coffee,
our histories
repeat themselves
with the roles reversed,
there is an incredible
rage in me
flowing in the
wrong direction,
you are the object
of my ire
but you are not
the subject,
I have your love
not your respect

!! WAIT !!

there is nothing
in any of these words
that make any sense
out of what we have
been through together,
only fear that races
through my heart
wanting to see how
perfect we could
have been together,
if only
you would change,
if only
I could change,
if
if
if

–GLB

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walk on by

it was two days in a row
that you smiled at me
and then walked on by

half of me was struck
by your auburn hair
by your hazel eyes
by that amazing smile,
and underneath all of that
you smell so good

the other half of me was struck
by my utter inability to produce
an intelligible phrase
(I’m pretty sure blaphumpdem doesn’t even count as a word)
so as I stood there
watching you walk on by,
my feet are riveted to the floor
and I am saying a quiet thanks
that you walked on by,
and I am uttering a quiet prayer
that tomorrow,
before you walk on by
I’ll be able to say “hi”

— GB

untitled #510

sheets pulled up
over his head,
rocking to a cadence
no one else can hear,

she is in every
movement made,
a circular reference
on a perfumed breeze,

fingernails dragged
through empty space
catch on a dust mote,
rip a gash that
weeps time
over their faces,

they wallow in it
as if it might
might dry up and
leave them gasping
for more,
far more,
more

— GB

without end

on the edge of
the mattress,
toes tap on the floor
to a rhythm
syncing in and out
of his head
on the bright
defiant comet’s tail

obliterated…
passing between
him and the sun,
pieces of Earth,
tiny grains of sand,
he counts, one for
every moment he
spends thinking of you

a timeless, loving,
task without end

— GB