House The Demons

He smiles, kicks back - relax...do you want a drink beautiful?
Flattery falls from his lips, diamonds of perfection
His fingers glide through his long silver hair, he's in his comfort zone
He can hold his own in a crowd of young bombers
Slow like a cat on the prowl he gets up stretches across the room - purr
His Italian leather couch oozes sex appeal NYC loft high above 
Reality is a custom bar marble slab sous chef prep 
My usual neurotic reply is like opening an old sacred love letter  
Gingerly with reluctance and insecurity, caution is first mate 
Handing me a glass - his fingers touch mine, lingering  
An intentional moment his eyes remain warm and clear
Leading the way to cheap talk and romantic reminiscing 
He says he gave up the spirits years ago but couldn't give up the ghosts
High times buzz by right side blur discarded memories - post regret
Salvage a few and letting go of the others - doesn't pay to house the demons
Fade out background dark side of the room strikes a cord
Strikes a nerve and chatter is on the vine - we step back in time
Quote of the day his mind leaves the room and he slips away -
"…I remember when the drinking age was 18 and Uncle Sam took all the boys away…"

© 2015 TrilbyYates

Shadow Box

You think - therefore you are
You've got my number
So to speak abstract
Interchangeable female
As is the status quo
Mindless ramblings
Of the current fool du jour
We are all the same
Gender bender screw off
High heeled shoes
and some slick lip gloss 
Plumping sexual montage
Careful not to step inside
Your deviant mind
Of images
We all remain
One in the same
While you play it over
and over blur
The industry you set
your sites on
The industry you mirror
for your successes 
The industry you
make love to 
Single handed self inflicted 
short sighted conquests  
Is a manufactured
male fantasy
...shadow box 

© 2015 TrilbyYates

A Theft Of The Heart

She counts 
all the men 
that have 
come and gone 
rise and fall 
tiny notches 
on her wall 
and they will 
never know 
what piece of her 
they have taken 
with them 
and it's not 
anything transparent 
or cliche 
words that rhyme 
or step away 
it's the subtleties 
in her voice 
the way she 
touched their brow 
and as they 
shuffle down the street 
straightening their tie 
and belt buckle
they will never know 
the wonder 
that she felt 
at their absence 
the after thought 
or the expression 
of sorrow 
for the lacking 
in how we have 
raised our boys 
and to her amazement 
there is no hostility 
only remorse 
for what they steal 
and never borrow 
...a theft of the heart

© 2015 TrilbyYates