Tag Archives: love

Personal Cougar

Lyrics, Copyright 2015 by Boinkaz

🎼Autumn trees and laughing pouts
sun snaked hudson slinking south
And Staten Island Ferry dawns
This is a New York wave.

She moved like butter through her day
a clever lady twice my age
sidestepping the serrated grave
that comes with middle-age.

Past lives exist to still our minds
crossroads that we have crucified
a quiet cottage by the sea
or lovers lost on winds of time

Age roulette is played by some
love gamblers dream they’ll show the young
how passion’s knots are tied and slung
til tears and arches fall

Our ashes are the sweeper’s keep
and though our time is brief we seek
to sow at least what we have reaped
with one to love who loves.

Past lives exist to still our minds
crossroads that we have crucified
a noisy party on the street
with lovers lost on winds of time.

Horizontal desperation
this must be life’s sexless station
I look better dressed than naked
pater familias me.

I shot my personal cougar
with my sarcasm and my youth
my vicious tongue, a hunting gun,
I’m sure she never missed.

It’s true that now I know her plight
my darling cougar of the night
for I myself am known to prowl
among the dynamite.

New lives exist to still our minds
crossroads that we will crucify
with misdirection so well spent
with lovers on new winds of time🎼

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A She-Time Sonnet

by Boinkaz

she has two pupils set within one eye

the product of inbreeding I’m convinced

her cooking is earnest and italian

set in reject pots from an outlet sale.

hawks of sweat clutch her arm as she cleans house

she’s merry as a bell with her talk shows.

reading ingredients off chocolate bars

she laboriously eats the morsels.

if time were a rose, its petals have dried

and scents our bathroom, behind the toilet.

claws of first snow withdraw to pads of grass

long our hearts tumble in this laundromat

eventide kisses of tonic and rye~

subtle jazz slow symbol whisk till we die.

Copyright 2015

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Boiling Ocean

When I think of you
I set a course
North by North East.
The sweep of your avi appears,
the ping of expectations
fly like corsaired glaciers
too eager to dissolve
in the Equator of such luxury.

the petals of your lips
burst on sonar
then close
then burst
in a distant monotone garden
cooled by a rain of loneliness.
They say come to me
for my heat tossles the floral baskets.
Clutch the ballustrade.
Ascend the stairs.
Make your home in my Atlantis.

Yet I cannot.
For to pluck a flower is to kill it.
My hand reaches
withdraws
reaches
leaves an acid trail in the semi-dark
a legacy of ashes lost to sun.
It is everything that I’ve become.
Sighing, I turn to duty,
adze my mind to lists, goals. Suchlike.
We are all denied love in the supermax of obligation.

I light a Winston.
Get my fill of bummer from the Smiths.
I say a prayer
for the sake of you
that this global warming is not real.
We are best left as we are
adrift as frozen photos
swirling on a rising whitecap
or jetting in the current of the Bering Sea.

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