The Emptiness of Self

Flashes behind the eyes
—at the back of the mind—
images of her sallow face,
or the haunting c r a c k
of four aspirin against glass…

A Love’s Labours

In the distance
b e t w e e n
lingers a love’s labours
lost to time and silence,

Venus & Aries entwined

In her bones she knows love
to be an ancient, celestial thing;
her love language was the first
language: a purity before sin.
With an affectionate touch
she may crown you king
if only
you can win the war
within her:
there’s exquisite beauty
in pleasure and pain,
but not every man
is fit to be king.

©2022, H. M. Smith, all rights reserved.

Lay Down My Bones

And when I am dead
lay down my bones—
rest my head—in that place
where my heart resides:
in that tiny corner of England,

Tiny Envelope

Pressed in a tiny
envelope, a lone petal
bears the weight
of all my love:
lost in the post,
carried from coast
to coast in search
of you, address:
unknown.

©2022 H. M. Smith, all rights reserved.

Forgive My Poetic Heart

Forgive my poetic heart
for all its fails and starts,
for the blots of ink
that stain the page,
for the discarded love
notes crumpled in rage: