*
I want to be a warm cup of coffee
that meets your lips in the morning,
savored until daylight introduces us again.
Anonymous ASKED:
The way you write about people in your poetry and your writing makes me sad. I wish someone (you) wrote about me in that way.
Shucks, i’m sure someone out there feels the same way about you, but maybe they just don’t know how to say it or articulate it in a way that does is justice.
AND AS FOR ME? I LOVE YOU, WHOEVER YOU ARE!
the view from my window in Paris
Yorkshire
I know nothing about your town,
except that it’s full of
rolling hills and dales,
with a lush countryside
unlike any other, they say.
I know nothing about your town,
except that its beauty
would mean nothing to me
without you in the driver’s seat,
showing me everything.
Dear Northern England,
I will be in you at the beginning of June!
But I promise not to get you pregnant.
Hugz n’ snogz,
Kasey
*
I gave you a folded love letter.
Don’t read it quite yet, I said.
You placed it in your coat pocket
and kissed the side of my lips,
grinning as if you already
knew each gentle word.
Westminster Abbey,
London
Hiding in hushed moments, blending in with coats and opaque tones, feeling so far from my Bristol home, swiftly moving alongside the people and the wind. Each raindrop offers a fall or a telephone call to someone close to let them know i’m getting quite cold, but the rain is fickle and feigning, so I let it trickle and pour. I hear my friends shouting for me to wait, just wait a second, but my thoughts and certainty are ten steps ahead of me so I don’t turn around to be sure or sorry. Then a man in front of me stops for a cigarette on his way down to the metro, while busybodies pass him and a woman carefully balances her piping hot coffee, mumbling Oh lo lo! I stop, too, imagining I also had a carton of cigarettes to open or a coffee to carefully sip, mostly focused. Doug’s finally catching up—I can hear his French, and it’s horribly confusing. Bonjour! Bon soir! Salut! Vous êtes ici! He’s lost somewhere in the hasty crowd as I’m stood still in its center now, enjoying the rhythm of footsteps and blurred language. I manage—I pull down my beanie and close my eyes, for there’s nothing even a pickpocket can take from me if I improvise.
Athena (Pallas de Velletri),
the Louvre,
Paris, France
Big Ben,
London
I WENT TO PARIS AND OTHER PLACES
Paris, France
Eiffel Tower,
Paris, France
