Phantasm

when he becomes
more than just a dream,
my heart will beat
the sound of a thousand drums
my soul will ache
with the clinching of needy fists
my mind will race
towards a feminine understanding,
and butterflies will
make sense again.
their existence
somehow unbelievable,
until then.

SatireĀ 

when springtime disappoints
and autumn refuses to speak,
paint a word picture; create poetry.
write of summertimes lost,
oh, how does it go:
lemons and lemonade…something.
or maybe,
winter’s production of an early snow:
verdant and virgin frost,
yes, two Vs – funny.
take me to where optimists dream
and abandon me there, leave me be.