Soured Kisses

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Every kiss that could have been yours sours
On my lips, left ungiven – infected
With quotidian doubt, which devours
The spirit; worsening when neglected.
You refused the amity I tendered,
Abandoning a poet created
In your eyes. This rejection engendered
An embarrassment time cannot negate.
I can’t claim a soul blessed with perfection;
But, despite my faults – which are manifold –
Each promise of honor and affection
Was pure – untarnished as the finest gold.
   This heart has been damaged beyond measure,
   And will ne’er again count love life’s treasure.

Aiding and Abetting

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

The deadliest monsters will sometimes bait;
Enticing the naïve by melodies;
Infusing ev’ry song with oaths to sate
Desire – ‘til choruses turn elegies.
The truth, it seems, is that you were never
My muse, and this poet sought creation
In a daydream; no more than some clever
Figment built by his imagination.
If it be necessary to place blame,
‘Tis my heart – deceived at first sight by eyes
Blind in worship – which merited the shame
I bear; a failure that lives undisguised.
   Many fiends hold power to make love sin,
   And, these enemies too oft’ lie within.

It's Mine, and I Can Touch it if I Want

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Pain is the cost of living, and mem’ry
Its tithe; images – good and bad – that dwell
To merge art with a mind in jeopardy;
Risking yet another descent toward Hell.
Like any addict, I’ll never be free
Of thy damned compulsion; left forever
Trapped between slavery and liberty,
‘Til the mortal coil has been severed.
While my scars will linger, and the bruises –
An ugly, yellow-black – refuse to fade,
There is some profit when anguish ‘comes muse,
And, by genius is suffering repaid.
   There is truth in the misery that haunts:
   It’s mine, and I can touch it if I want.

A Completely Sincere, and Hardly Creepy at all, Sonnet for a Young Woman I Barely Know

By Bud Koenemund

For L.

‘Tis difficult gazing into your eyes;
Their dusky beauty doth inhibit thought –
Scrambling cognition each time I spy
Those jellied orbs – leaving my brain o’erwrought.
Undeniably, the sight is pleasing,
And anticipated, ever bright’ning
The drear I daily struggle through; easing
By some degree my gloom, e’en lightening
The spirit. In truth, I should remain mute;
Appreciating thy loveliness from
Afar – knowing my age allows no suit.
But, ‘gainst this charge, my pen cannot stay dumb.
   And though by these words the heart is betrayed,
   I beg you accept this innocent praise.

I Loved You the Only Way I Know How

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I loved you the only way I know how:
Everything I am, or might have become,
Offered freely, and attended by vows
This affection to death could ne’er succumb.
Although sanity was oft’ suspect, no
Measure of devotion can truly gauge
The quantity I swore to thee would grow
E’er stronger as respect ripened with age.
But, shame will stain one who dares to grant all –
Mind, body, and soul – without guarantee
Of recompense, and I lived on enthralled;
Believing someday you’d answer my pleas.
   By all things enskied ‘tween Heaven and Hell,
   I did worship thee past what words can tell.

Epic Romance Fail

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I should have known better; realized from
The beginning that girls like you don’t fall
For guys like me – despite the many dumb
Sonnets I’ve written. Still, I had the gall
To hold faith in crazy fairy tale love –
Gripping two with passion; unshakable
Emotion sacred in the eyes of Jove.
I risked odds not only improbable,
But impossible absent a silver screen,
And the penalty I endure now
Is believing my affections obscene;
Forever beyond what fate will allow.
   This world may justly pronounce me a fool
   For possessing a mind by heart o’eruled.