otoh » rogue poetry

eye contact

Tim — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 18:19:17 +0000

Her eyes met mine with such a force
I had to look away, of course
Those glorious globes set me reeling
with a slightly queasy feeling
Quickly though, I recomposed
and focused on what I supposed
Was a safer point of view
as I wondered what to do
I knew our vision would not meet
While I focused on her feet

Slowly then I dared to raise
my timidly admiring gaze
I chanced a bit to lightly linger
and explore her graceful fingers
Till a horrid thought gave me a fit
“She thinks I’m ogling her tits!”
And so faceward, I glanced again
as she flashed the brightest grin
Then I dared to glimpse once more
Cerulean orbs that I adore

All That Glitters

Tim — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 15:07:20 +0000

you trotted through my world
leaving broken promises
crushed dreams
and my shattered heart
in your wake
then grinned at all the shards

“See,” you said,
“I leave a sparkly trail
everywhere I go!”

fork

Tim — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 06:19:57 +0000

One brief, bitter kiss
passed lightly ‘cross our lips.

A broken heart
is the most exquisite pain.

Scene of the

Tim — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 21:11:48 +0000

crime of the heart
yellow tape stretched tight
DO NOT CROSS
DO NOT CROSS

The Rub

Tim — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 08:02:41 +0000

I massage her feet.
She smiles and moans
and holds my hand
with her unusually long toes.

fortnight

Tim — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 18:13:28 +0000

The full moon makes me lonely
Then my aches wane away
Till a new moon makes a promise
Of darker nights but brighter days

RRR: Driven

Tim — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 23:02:02 +0000

I put this little project together last year for National Poetry Month. The inspiration for it was many years ago, but, as these things often do, it took on a new facet more recently.

Drained

Tim — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 19:17:53 +0000

Steam envelopes me and
she stands beneath the spray
of the shower head.
“There’s not enough room for both of us,”
I protest,
breath hotter than the steam.
“Of course there is,”
she argues and moves closer.
I feel her body all along
the length of mine –
toes, knees, thighs, hips, breasts.
Her head on my chest,
her hands on my back.
Under soapy lather I feel her curves
then turn the water hotter, hotter
till I can’t stand it
but she does.
So I turn it colder, colder
than her icy heart,
her nails clawing at my back.
Her memory drips from
my trembling body
until my pain circles the drain.
She’s gone, I know she’s gone
but my heart won’t know
till I can shower alone.

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Blanketed

Tim — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 02:15:37 +0000

There is a peculiar and particular silence
in new-fallen snow
such that one can hear the moonbeams
bouncing all around
and the north wind as she whispers,
“I am here,
I am here….”

Star Lit

Tim — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 21:53:50 +0000

The starlet sparkles on the silver screen
and I wish I were a younger man
Because, clearly, it is the age difference
that is keeping us apart