Poetry

[maboggs]

I Threw Away My Journal, 2005
A cleansing of the palate
Between the courses of my heart
Your smell would linger through those pages
The sweet and sour tase of our love
Devouring me, tainting all that came after.
But our time had passed,
And although I still long
To fill my senses with you,
With us,
I had to move on
Or starve.

B.F.F.

for Becky

Tropical Storm.
That's what they called out
As they leaned
Beyond screen doors.
But to us
It was heaven,
Raindrops so big
They stung our shoulders
As we ran
Through abandoned streets,
Our bare feet splashing
In the fast accumulating
Pools of warmth,
Tilting our faces to the sky,
Laughing at our secret joys.
We ran, ran
Past the houses
To where green trees
surrounded the road,
Away from prying,
Protecting eyes.
Our clothes,
Wet through,
Formed to our
Womanly shapes
As we grasped
At the threads
Of our childhood;
As we clung
Desperately
To us.