the gift

The velvet ribboned box
Hiding hollow heart
Greeted me in a most demure way
Distracted I thought you a book
A book of which I already possess 5

But leapfrogging timelapsed conversations
Half a day away
Has me relishing my certain quietude
I knew it would come
The weightless feeling again
I can exist in this bubble
Suspended
It has all the air I require
I leave no footprints and I only occasionally
Snap photos
Some say be bold
When I am bold
I am prone to folly
So instead I hide
Hollow inside a festooned box
Three names imprinted upon me
Typewriters are objects for the nostalgic
I like the clickety clack
Clickety clack

But I am of a mind to purchase a fountain pen and a leather bound journal
I wonder would those inspire me more than the beribboned box inviting me to be filled?

I am a skilled rationer
Rationalizing is an art as well
But I am speaking of chocolates in buckets’ small supply
The only discipline I possess
I can make it last

But there are times I squander
I engorge to sad result
Though my slim-hipped form is still boyish in many ways

And like a stubborn boy
I will not give up my dream of you
The belief that you will never leave
Though you left long ago and sent me away
More times than I can remember
Like a child I lie badly
I remember every time
There were just more than I like to admit

In this you are more the boy
You forget what is least convenient to remember
I go out of my way to record
And perhaps this is precisely why I require a leather bound journal
A pen and a bottomless heart-shaped fountain 
Full of blackest blue
 

starlet

I reveal too much to be a mystery
There are scarce few rewards for humility
So I am packing my words in musty old trunks
And sparingly offering them in bite sized chunks
Let them eat petit four and have it too
I am learning what it is that I must do
You can't get to the top in comfortable shoes
Because sometimes I win but most times I lose
It has too much to do with knowing the who’s whose
So I dropped a name and I added a face
But the higher I climb I'm farther from grace
She waits at the lowest rung of the ladder
For my repentant return
Even though I have told her there is still so much
So much more I have to learn