POEMS ON THE VARIOUS ASPECTS OF LOVE B Y: SCOTT PETTY

FACES OF LOVE:

Table of Contents
DEATH..............................................................................3 SUFFERING........................................................................4 FAITH................................................................................5 MEMORIES.......................................................................6 DISTANCE..........................................................................7 OBSESSION........................................................................8 INTIMACY..........................................................................9 PURSUIT............................................................................10 WONDER...........................................................................11 KISSES...............................................................................12 LUST...................................................................................13 INNOCENT...........................................................................14

“What’s it like when you die?”
Night time together, me and my son. time for soft words under soft light The covers of a dark Night. And then my little boy opens the mood With his innocent question: “Mommy, what’s it like When you die?” I bring him close to his home under My bosom and try to answer His unanswerable question… When you die, son, maybe it’s Like eating a pear. Remember those pears I brought Home last week? I don’t know of any fruit It taste like Sometimes dying Has a texture like A peach but can Be grainy like An orange. Dying, son, Is not like biting into An apple, breaking easily With a crunch But your teeth sink into it Dying can Be like a bad pear That kind of crumbles and You’re so disappointed Because that wasn’t What you wanted At all. That can happen when you die. You Just kind of crumble like a bad pear That is no longer Flavorful. It’s a bit tough on the exterior but Surprisingly soft yet Powerful on the inside. It’s like Succulent sand that Dissolves on your Tongue. And even though death Is nothing like any Other fruit, it Has the taste Nostalgia even If it is your First time.

Tears on the Sidewalk
Ten years of dim lights cast by flickering candles through muddled windows Ten years of cries in muted tones from some room back of the house. Plans she made as a sophomoric girl drawn like curtains. Ten years and she walks away a woman.

SPECIAL
I see stored in clay jars in the depth of God’s eyes sentiments of blithe laughter. She tore open the sky to admire the deep planes above, deep as thunder and singing together, as light skated down her arms. The camera’s flash goes benign. The world has shrunk and God continues in quiet, quiet laughter as you touch His knee.

Everything of Any Importance Goes in Small Tin Boxes
Her dead eyes, only alive in a matte finish, were the only eyes that always saw every good thing about me, but will never look ever again, always there beneath the bed in a small tin box.

If I Were to Describe Our Relationship
A house Standing all alone Fading yellow A decaying porch The frame is rotting the paint Chipping Left to be forgotten A hallow attic dark and Weary cross beams dressed in Webs panel floor carpeted in Dust Alone In A Corner stands a leather trunk Torn and weak Fading Green like Leaves on the verge Of autumn With a lock tarnished Without confidence I touch the leather Course and tough the metal Is cold and dull A shake and no response A Knock or two and no answer Groping and searching but there Is no way in I peer through the Key hole to search the answer Empty Nothing My heart sinks as I Exit the room Only the Prints of my fee Can be seen As I Descend the stairs I close the front door I leave

You and I
Why is fast never fast enough? Why is far never far enough? Why is dark never dark enough? I can’t drive fast enough to flee the face of you. I will never be far enough from you. It will never be dark enough to hide your eyes I crossed the threshold I peered through the window but I still wonder what brings two people, you and I, to a point at the same time. I’ve crossed too far. I’ve gone too deep. I’ve got to go. Fast is never fast enough to flee the face of you. Far is never far enough from you. The night will never be dark enough to hide your eyes.

It’s Called Intimacy
You met the sharpest turn at forty-five miles per hour without a tense flinch or tap of the breaks You felt the rise and fall of the sidewalk beneath your pounding feet You walked around the room in the dead of night, listlessly evading the end table and passing the wall without a second glance You knew that voice as it laughs a floor below You knew that voice before you saw that face You smelled the lingering scent of their favorite cigarette as it dances with that one brand of laundry detergent that you can name without seeing

LOVE NOTES
Crack and tink go the rocks you propel against my window to call me out and disclose genuine love rocks from my backyard, small lava rocks you want to call love notes. I'll know you're sincere when I hear a knock at the front door, or the ring of the door bell and then you kiss me atop a welcome mat.

Kiss Me. I’m Delicate
A virgin day christened by the breaking light Some muted room shuddering in every breath he takes, not spoken, nor heard, but felt up and down every fold in the linen in every fold of his flesh. But there he is: naked in a chimerical way.

Do I really know you? Do you really want to know me?

He tasted like warm water last night.

I rest between the wall on my right and a wall on my left but the light or even him in his nakedness is just a hope; my hope that he will find me open in a very real way. I wait for him to find me in a corner of truth becoming clearer to my sight, solid to my touch, real to the sound of my ears. My eyes shut tight. He wakes. I feel the first morning embrace.

Fable
And I run my hand upon her waist swirling to fleshy hips the perfect kind of indent beginning a luscious paragraph with the kind of language that rises and falls poignant as the story is told in subtle movements with supple kisses emphasizing parenthetical remarks this reader would not want to miss. Every pause to take in breath leads to a new sentence. The rules of grammar are riven in the heat of the moment so I grip her as the plot thickens. I am swept away into color reverberations. In my earnest interest I discover the next page: undiscovered dictionaries and a thesaurus etched out with her scrawling tongue. Spellbound, I’m unwilling to turn away, replace her cover until I have become familiar with every page, each inch of the story, this epic narrative.

The Sound of a Kiss
Wind that sighs heavy Water that laps gently on a rocky shore.

Sleep With Me
Can I fall asleep in your arms tonight? I need somewhere warm, a heartbeat in my ear that is not my own. Can you run your fingers through my hair? It’s thin on top but maybe tonight you can pretend it’s full and soft. You can pretend I’m a beautiful person with indigo eyes and innocence still written on my face. Then I’ll fall asleep forgetting my sins, my selfish demeanor and only remember to forget.

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