A Good Thing In Life

"Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife."
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A poem on onions and love.
An epitome of how understated true love is.
It's not my work.
But it's the few of the good things left in life
that I can appreciate.

My heart now anticipates like many times before.

Who would have the eyes for such a miserable creature like me?

If you really come for me,
would you take my heart that's marred with scars?

A figure neither beautiful,
nor a voice that rings like bells in the wind.

Why would you kiss a mouth,
that's as foul as death pit?

What would make you tenderly soothe your fingers through my hair,
What would spur you to grab my hand and hold me close?

If you really come for me,
would you write poems of my sorrows,
pledges of care for me?

A soul that's neither contented,
nor a spirit that soars to the sky.

Why would you whisper verbal endearments into a ear,
that's deafened by the long silence in her mind?

What would make you play the piano,
What would make you sing our duet?

If you really come for me,
would you stay beside my casket to weep for me?