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.

Words, Words, Words

By Bud Koenemund

For TK

I possess no gift with words; no powers
Magical, nor grasp on love's subtle ways.
Rather, too often rhymes linger, soured
Upon the tip of my quill, as fear plays
'Gainst desire. And, I despair respect
Will seem diminished by repetition.
Though my soul is frozen, I can't affect
Immunity to Cupid's ambition,
For you, Muse, have breathed life into my prose
With beauty and wit, pleasing eye and breast.
And, as sunlight serves to nourish the rose,
Your genius can feed emotion repressed.
   The secrets of passion surpass my ken;
   But, thy favor revives my heart and pen.

A Simple Word Too Easily Said

For Kristen Brownell

Lord, how can so small a word cause such pain?
Indeed, the gift becomes too abstract when
Words, easily said, fall like drops of rain
On the ocean, and fool even wise men;
Oh, how the promises the heart believes,
When it dares to hope, break upon the rocks
Of high speech – but feelings only conceived –
Then sink down into the depths of self-mock;
Verses and oaths so quickly lose their worth
When once solemn pledges become dilute
Through casual repetition and dearth
Of the emotion real and absolute.
Even sweet words, spoke too oft’, turn sour,
And kill the root of this precious flower.