DON'T!

Don't make me fall in love with you.

Don't be dashing,

smashing in every way.

It will only overwhelm …

be too much for me to ignore.

And please don't approach via the back door,

don't smile and beguile,

your lips enticing contact.

They will be too much for me to resist.

You see, I want to be kissed.

Then again, don't use your intellect,

keep your creative side to yourself.

Your ready wit sits pretty …

poised to seduce, waiting for acquiescence.

I pretend to be unimpressed

while mentally undressing your brain.

It's vain, like chocolate,

rich and dark and addictive.

There is a part of me that has already succumbed,

plumbed that fall into your arms.

The other part holds back, remains aloof,

proof, if proof were needed

of my immanent submission.

And given my past, you are doctor ordered:

A multi-faceted man who can can-can.

So why do I protest and prevaricate?

Habit? Stab it before being stabbed?

Well, if you haven't already guessed,

you don't have to make me fall for you!

I am already undressed, my heart's garment shed,

my pulse quickening at your approach,

the bed in my head pristine and unruffled …

For now.

©2010 Nicky Jones.

THE DREAM CATCHER

The Dream Catcher waited,

in the night she watched and waited

for dreams of longing to make their

way into the ether.

 

These dreams elicited exquisite feelings:

sadness, desire, craving, yearning,

tummy-churning emotions meant

to propel the dreamer into action.

 

The Dream Catcher easily detected such dreams,

the sound of tossing and turning alerting,

as limbs criss-crossed and sheets

twisted into knots.

 

The Dream Catcher closed her eyes

and joined the dreamers,

wept kohl tears for the souls in torment.

She wished each one a happy ending.

 

But catching dreams of longing,

holding them steady,

ready for their journey

was only a temporary measure.

 

Eventually the dreams had to be released,

And then they joined others,

brothers-in-hunger,

each tongue tied in a knot of shy.

 

The Dream Catcher tried her hardest

to keep the dreams apart.

They were attracted to one another, however,

the dreamers’ inflamed hearts to blame.

 

The Dream Catcher tried to

shatter and scatter the sad dreams.

It was a temporary ploy;

they would once again cloy and clog

into a fog of lack,

a gaseous cloud of black.

 

Happy, fulfilling dreams also clumped.

She left them to their own devices.

 

© 2010 Nicky Jones.

BUTTERFLIES

There are butterflies in my stomach.

I would net them, keep them there if I could.

 I like the way they arrive,

 unexpectedly, signing life with a flourish.

They give it nervous meaning,

take the strife out of the trouble,

duck, dive and dodge all day,

as they play with my distracted mind.

*

I feel alive inside when they flutter,

 bumping into bone, tickling ribs

as they try to get out, go home,

exit through one orifice or another.

When they do die down,

I take a break from euphoria,

go for a long walk,

 have a good  talk to myself.

*

But when they inevitably return,

and that tummy churning

expectant feeling of certainty

re-lights the fire within, well...,

then the butterflies burn,

their beautiful wings turned to flame;

I fan their embers,

making sure they never go out.

Nicky Jones.