Posts tagged “Infatuation

California Dreamin’

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Cali was a cute little suffer girl from Santa Ana.
She was about this tall, had a sweet laugh, great smile,
deliriously long caramel-colored hair,
and a nice little IM.

We liked to pretend we were in love.

She used to send me photos
of herself in the dressing room at the mall
with her iPhone while she was sitting in Physics class.

“There’s more where that came from,” she would wink.

She took me for a drive one night—
just her, her iPhone, and I.
We ended up out on the beach where
she lay me out bedside her on a blanket, flipped me open,
and began texting with a warm, seductive voice
into my ear.

I thought I was roaming.

“Touch me—here,” she teased.
And forwarded me a photo of the inside of her thigh.

I was all thumbs.

I moved my hand slowly up the inside of her LCD.
She giggled as I started caressing her Instagram application.

Do you love me?” She purred.

“I thought we were pretending.” I replied.

Charles Coakley Simpson


Nesting

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Nesting

We carve a nest in the wheat behind your parent’s house and lay there at dusk waiting for the stars to fill the indigo void left by the setting sun speaking in half-whispers the tender sincerity of your words filling my head with the thought of what it would be like to kiss you pulling your hair gently behind your ear the Harvest moon shining softly on the nape of your neck your mother calling out for us in the darkness the cicadas singing their summer song from the shadows of the trees which line the river of my no return.

Charles Coakley Simpson


Thistles

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Thistles

Might the thorn
be as fragrant as the flower,
that the paradox of love is in the irony of its pain.
Thus I am drawn into a garden of thistles
where even the rose is entangled within its vine
that I cannot deny my passion
for beauty

Charles Coakley Simpson


Infatuation

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Infatuation

Speak to me in colors–
thus tinted are the windows to your soul.
Might that I marvel in the mystery
as it skirts ‘cross their pond.
And yet stilled are the words; they lie like copper
upon my tongue–tarnished.
For I cannot find them enough to say
“I love you.”

Charles Coakley Simpson