There was a street cafe
Of love,
Where once a virgin met
Experienced lover.
Where a husband yearned
For yet another,
Where a fiancé second guessed a marriage.
Where an older man
Ached for a younger lover,
And played juke boxes
Of different songs,
Many times
With coffee cups of different sighs,
And glistening eyes.
All three hearts and minds
mourned in different ways ,
at different times,
the fact that their love
Had died
In that street cafe of love called Ted’s.
Hemingway
puts on
his gun metal grey
gloves .
No perplexing
purple today .
Female companions
are gone .
While
pouring
over his Parisian
notes ,
silhouettes in moonlight ,
barrels, and hunting,
begin to preoccupy him .
“Once you’ve hunted
men, nothing quite
compares” he says
as he proceeds
to hunt himself .
I Will Cleave to the One I love
I will cleave
to the One I love
In the beauty that comes
from inside,
and to and from above ,
to the beauty of nature
without.
There’s no lasting beauty in abandon ,
no true joy in a One night stand .
It’s empty with a promise
of panacea .
There is only darkness
hiding there
and a sliding
of the wandering
errant hand .
PWChaltas 