Another day
And soon, I'll be on my way
To a job that I hate
But I cannot be late
...
Cadmium air
Gray wash sky
Watercolor moon
Opaque smudge on the darkening canvas of approaching night
...
Tonight the High Plains are nothing but darkness. I will light them with the candles of my dreams.
____________
Andrew Dabar
...
Crape Myrtle hot pink
Breasts leak with late summer rain
On my upturned face
...
She looks at me from across the room, smiles, and looks away again. And then, it's business as usual for her. But my heart, it lifts and sinks. Like a curtain on the breeze. It lifts and sinks again and again.
____________
Andrew Dabar
...
She drops to her knees
And nobody sees
Unless there's a God
In the heavenlies
...
Innocent and unaware
Of all who've been swallowed there
Small children play at the mouth
Of a hungry behemoth
...
Sometimes it happens like a dream. Their lips had never met until that moment. Drawing her close, he kissed her carefully, thoughtfully, skillfully, his eyes wide open and locked with hers, brown on blue. They stood in the middle of a high meadow, knee-deep in wild flowers, before falling farther to the ground and further in love, their bodies completely hidden and exposed, both. The green grass, crushed by their weight, bled beneath them, staining their skin.
Yes, he remembers. Her hair was fragrant as clover spread all around; her skin salty and damp in the summer heat; her tongue and breath pink and sweet as mimosa; her fingers soft as a breeze before lifting his shirt like the hay wind. His head was buzzing—or maybe it was the bees swarming.
...
Thoughts of you fall silently
like flakes of snow throughout the day.
One by one and one on top of the other
they connect, and they stick, and they cover
...
She was leaving. He followed her with his eyes. But his mind got away: it raced around the corner and blocked the exit just in time. She walked into his outstretched arms—straight through his phantom arms—then disappeared just beyond a heavy door. The closing door. The slamming door. The ugly, gray door. The "I'll see you no more" door.
She never knew he was standing there. Breathless. Close enough to brush her hair and agitate her skirt with static blue sparks.
____________
...
She entered through one door
As he by another
Did cross a crowded floor
Strangers to each other
...
The reality of her re-entered my dreams
Reluctantly, permanently
For reasons of nobility
I dismissed her heart from me
...
This is how it happened:
You entered the room and a gentle breeze
Stirred a place nobody sees
Deep within the wilderness of my heart—
...
Starting with the sun
Count them one by one:
A star for every blessing
A blessing for every star
...
The beauty of Paris Mountain in the day. Viewed from a distance, she is the first blue wave of the Blue Ridge, a silent single line heading north, forming, building, eventually tilting, but never crashing or rushing back, a captivating still frame of swelling beauty, perpetually coming. The tide coming in—or maybe going out—one final breaker heading south, spilling, fizzing, ultimately disappearing into the Piedmont.
If not a wave, she is a work of art. A nubile goddess with an androgynous name. Her sensual body is as long and lithe as Aphrodite of Cnidus but Praxiteles is not responsible. God's Great Flood sculpted her with mathematical precision and placed her belly down, head resting on muscled arms, a sleeping nymph with legs and feet stretching all the way to the city's edge. That's the view from Caesar's Head and any man with eyes to see will find himself staring, maybe even blushing, or perhaps falling in love with this erotic woman.
...
Only minutes remain
In this the final day
With so much left to say
So
...
On a gray day
On a cloudy day
For a moment or two
A midmorning sun finally breaks through
...
A Kiss Goodbye
Another day
And soon, I'll be on my way
To a job that I hate
But I cannot be late
So
I gripe, and I grumble
I fuss, and I fumble
The same old routine
(you know what I mean)
And in the dark
A path is marked
To the coffee pot
Which helps a lot—
In the cold, something hot
Another dawn
That I am drawn
Back down the hall
When I hear her call
With blankets wrapped about
She sits there, arms stretched out
She wants me to know
She hates when I go—
Here lips touch mine
Something travels down my spine
And suddenly
The day is good
I do what I should
I open the door
And face the world once more
Into the wind
Her scent on my skin
Which helps a lot—
In the cold, something hot
____________
Andrew Dabar