Death

As your kiss is not so cold –
for your whisper is filled with sentimentality.
A fleeting childhood, the elusive kiss
and the comfort of arms which held me upon a time.
Thus as you gather me to your bosom
I know it is not about the love that I have lost
but the love that I leave
- Behind.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Dreaming of words

They find me in my sleep -

from under covers, beneath pillows.
The compassionate conjunctions of my intimate illusions;
surrealistic sensualities of amorous adjectives .
Building soft scented metaphors on cool rainy mornings
whereupon my only comfort is in the warmth
- of longing for you

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Deceit

As was my love -
Only as blind as I chose it to be;
Thus I would have to know from another
of the promises yonce made
- To me

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2006

Intimacy

To close my eyes
is to know there is nothing else besides you,
for even in this dark I think of you
As these shadows have made me long for tenderness' touch.
Thus my hand caresses the silhouette of your thigh.
Shoulders paling ‘neath the moon – stardust woven into your hair,
that even as my lips lay voiceless against your skin
your cheek lies cool upon my pillow.
Then so your words tumble effortlessly into my ear
I consider the gentleness within your voice.
Or is it only that my heart trembles -
To be next to you

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008