Caresses

We met with an earnest urgency
and each time our lips touched, a
little more of our time
slipped away.

It wasn’t
Lust, but
it was carnal.

It wasn’t
Love, but
it was splendor.

It was
fleeting, but
it was worth it.

by Erik Shinker

Advertisements

Infatuation

Cerulean eyes glare with
passion. Bleached threads
dangle from a
sun-kissed scalp.

Intensity holds a
stare atop a soft smile
which hides a full, toothy
laugh inside
for fear of
becoming vulnerable.

Could I ever
satisfy? Could I conjure
that smile?
Have I merely formed
my own idea of
who and what
she is?
I make assumptions of what
she wants, how
she sees the world, what
makes her truly
special.

by Erik Shinker

Decisions

I can’t get up on my own
anymore, darling.
I can’t support myself,
or you.

I am tired, and scared, and I
see the end coming
closer each day.
I know I am experiencing many things
for the last time, but
I dwell too much on that
fact to enjoy them.

The kids make sacrifices for
us, and they’re willing to do
even more.
But in our stubborn refusal,
we are wearing them thin.

We made our own way, and
we have been strong,
but I am weak;
I cannot pretend to be
anything else anymore.

I am tired, my love.
You can’t keep laughing off
my frailty as little lapses in concentration.

We need help, and we need
to get it while we can still benefit.
I love you, and I don’t
want to disappoint you, but
I’m nearing the edge and we
need to have some
tough conversations.

We can’t continue in denial.
Death will come; that’s inevitable.
When I meet my creator, I want to do so
with dignity;
not as a dusty husk.

I am so proud of
you, of
us, of
our children and
grandchildren and
great-grandchildren.

We have come so far, and there is a
little further to go, but
some difficult decisions remain
before we separate
and reunite.

by Erik Shinker

Strawberry Lovers

Sweet.
Tangy.
Ripe like
plump lips;
a pale imitation when
premature.

Some add sugar;
a softening, synthetic sweetener for
those unwilling to accept the
built-in bitterness of its nature.

Some bite deep, severing the stem and smiling;
blood-red evidence of their enjoyment dripping
through bleached enamel.
A moment’s ecstasy, a cry of passion, a
sudden regret.

They do
not
savor the flavor, but rather
put on a show for all to see,
intentionally ignorant of their
lie and disdain for the taste.

Some engulf entirely, unaware or
uncaring for the fruit’s
comfort, its dignity.
They seek the fullness of experience and
leave nothing behind but
rejected leaves covered in
spit-slicked residue.
Left bereft of their sweetness, their
value, their
worth.

Gently, in thrusting lust, through the
long deterioration of time, or discarded
in the wake of moldering rot;
all will be consumed in one way
or another.

by Erik Shinker

Thrust and Flutter

Yearning for release will bypass
apprehension.

A revelation in our intermingling;
when thrust and flutter
peel back our intricacies and rip
at the scabs of bitter romance
until taste slips sour
with the coupling of each kiss.

A beard brushing
amongst such soft skin
would bring about welcomed abrasion
until our cup runs over and,
amid that embraced conception,
the lingering question
of

“what comes next?”

remains.

by Erik Shinker

Love Songs

They exist in
a contradictory courtship
between the abstract and
specific.

Proclamations attesting to
the Divine
nature of love.

Laments of
time lost. Shrieks
of regret and
betrayal grating at
the worth of it all

How many were written
in hopes of gaining? How many
were
premature?

Which describe
the actuality?
What if they’re all just
pleas
for what can never
truly be?

Are they love songs,
or just songs about love?

by Erik Shinker