Rearview Mirror

The stoplight wasn’t nearly long enough;
I only caught a glimpse in the rearview.
Not enough time to drink in his image –
left thirsty, only a sip of blue eyes
(were they blue beyond my imagining?)

No cigarette dangled from crimson lips
– which only made me want to taste them more.
With no idea of height, just a hint
of stature by his casual posture
leaning against window and steering wheel.

Red turned green – envy my destination
as he disappeared around the corner.
I just passed, too shy to reverse my course.
He will remain in my rearview mirror.


Black River Water


Colors washed from the day run together;

river water darkens from green to black.

My mood, captured in the dimming sky light,

grey mixed with muted brown, is overcast.


Winter’s approaching brings with it sorrow

unshakable – even after these years

of tears, rants, and raves, followed by healing

wounds that break open with a touch of past.


Time spent wandering among trees, along

river bank and deserted beach, provides

respite – a path to remembering you.


And although we never walked along here;

I find you blended in muted color,

our love in the deep black river water.





Strength of a Memory

Moments come and go when the ache for you
is so intense, I’m certain I will burst
into flame; the longing to caress you,
taste you, saturates me, my every pore;
my mouth waters at the thought of your mouth.

Strangely, my body does not remember
other hands and mouths, other intimate
partners with the strength of your memories –
perhaps their passion did not run as deep
for me – desire not as evident.

I wonder how long it will take for these
sensations to run their course, fade away
– parts of me (yes those) don’t want it to end;
others hope its soon for sanity’s sake.

~ Siobhan

Forgotten Enough

Each stroke becomes a slap, the sting of words
bruises flesh just caressed; desire’s ache
turns to ire and passion dissipates.
Her body is, being freely given
to him,
questioned at its curves. Attraction
seen in another’s eyes sparks suspicion.

Platitudes of trust ring hollow, she is
faithful; he has few doubts, it’s not in her
he sees deceit – so he says.  Be patient.
Past lives haunt them with cruel memory;
each has given, only one forgiven
(or forgotten) enough to start anew.

Yesterday’s misery destroys today,
they pay the price of loving and losing.


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The Patient

He’s pale,
bleached to match the sheets;
grey hair greyer,
pink scalp one shade lighter
than the last time she saw him. Older
age settles around him,
a beige blanket thrown across his lap matches the universe.

he notices the world has come to visit;
his smile throws light into eyes
all at once blue,
and mischievous.
And she has her father back.

~ Siobhan

What He Hears

Seduced with sensuous words, he is lost
inside; tantalized, tempted, and tortured.
The only release imaginary
conversation – copulation – with her.

Short of the physical, this sensation
captures him, leaves him – hanging on the edge.
She whispers she wants the push and the pull
give and take, their shared passion – desire.

He can’t see through her words, to who she is;
does not want to look beyond the surface.
Fantasy plays a large part in his life,
reality has little use for him.

And so he listens not to what she says –
but to what he hears her say in his mind.


Buried Memories

Buried within the deep pile of pillows,
memory surfaces, and surrounds her;
it comforts as easily as it irks.

She feels their heat – lovers long gone and
sleeping beside her. The loved and lusted
bodies, all different in their desire.

Touch me – touch me not; kiss me – don’t bother.
She recalls the passionate differences
with a smile on the edge of her dreams.

He enjoyed the taste and flavor of love;
his favorite was falling asleep – untouched;
she satisfied him simply by being.

Freshly laundered sheets slip-glide, silky-smooth;
their caress is her whisper of goodnight.



Perched on the Edge

They were all choosing parts
deciding what role they would play.
Some evenly discussed
the pros and cons of time slots,
others argued
wanting only what they couldn’t have –
the time taken by another already set
in the certainty of privilege.

Peepers popped frequent complaints
slated for the hours between dusk and dark

Stag and doe murmured softly satisfied
with wee hours of fog and haze
slighted slightly by the agreement to share
dusk with so many.

The owl’s circular flight mirrored her
circular argument shifting between
midnight and daybreak.

Perched on the edge of discussion
sang the birds, early risers, willing
to accept the task of pulling at the morning
to lift it above the trees,
place it in front of the world.



Room for Two

Moments come and go when we trip over
one another, briefly confused, by this
newness. We are the same and we are not;
still we are together – inseparable.

In this room for two, we find each other
no longer wandering empty spaces.
We’ve learned to fit into the place we have,
routines re-written and patience practiced.

A different schedule and new habits
take over old ways, teaching us new tricks;
life pushes the need to reorganize
against the fatigue, gives me the power

to create my own space, and give you yours.
We adapt, once again, to the changes.


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