Before I met her
I used to dress myself.
Donned in paisley,
I had class and style.
She cut out my Calvin Klein heart
and now I look like
my grandpa.
Oversized golf shirts,
and slacks to match.

I used to dress myself.
It sounds absurd
but it's true.
I was dangerous, I lived
on the edge.
She said,
"You're not a gangster,
so quit dressing like one.
Here, put this on.
It's really cute."

I used to dress myself.
And now I'm
safe and sound in
cardigans and corduroy.

Low hanging clouds diffused
smudging the flat peaks
in muddy weather
brawny trees glistened
at the dripping tips.

swish of sheets
and flurries of light,
cotton through fingers
a touch to wet ice.
pillows of white,
slow nights of sleet
call to mine conscience
fond memories to keep.

In a chair he sits
with

sunlight on his
face

yet it's
still opaque

the twitch
of his eye

only
a MacGuffin

so don't expect
a revelation

because as someone
once

long ago said

what remains in the heart
must be obscure

Whit Howland © 2020

as charming as they might be,
the spirits of those with no remorse,
i was only endebted to the eternity,
in the ember of your eyes infinite beauty.

[german]

so charmant sie auch sein mögen,
die geister derer ohne reue,
ich war nur der Ewigkeit verpflichtet,
in der Glut deiner Augen unendlich Schönheit.

© fey (20/09/19)