Blush

I’ve been holding onto the something between us that defines us,
Makes us blush.
Makes us real.
What if I let it go?
Where would it go if I released my grip?

Our identities are tied up in “things”
What we do is what defines us
What happened to what we stood for
Defining us?

I just wanted to get one thing straight:
What is it that defines you?
Because it’s not me,
Not anymore.

Fireflies

An old romance grows stale
In the hills above Hollywood
The relationship fails.
Dancing on hard wood floors.
He’d make her blush,
His words hit a vein.
She’d start to stammer,
Whisper to hush
They were on the same plane
Of thought—fireflies
In the night, blinking lights on the inter-state
Trying to find their way home,
She’d sigh, reminisce.
Our storm no longer insulates.
Fireflies in a losing battle
Of inner fire.

I could make a pretty poem

I could make a pretty poem
And mold it into something
With line breaks
And stanzas

Maybe it would win prizes
And be misunderstood
It would have to have a clever
Rhyme scheme

It would be about real life
But with a twist
Maybe about me drinking my
Morning coffee and reaching an
Epiphany through the swirls
Of mocha in my mug

Oh, it would have alliteration and
Maybe some consonance. I could throw
Some big words in for good measure
Like “narcolepsy” and “prescription pills”

Maybe the latter is what I was on when
I ever decided to write a pretty poem
With line breaks
And stanzas
And complicated rhyme scheme.