Again,
I find myself
Haunted
By memories
Of her-
Skin
So soft,
And
Hair like silk,
Between my fingers,
As I inhale
Her
Into
My lungs
And memory.
The smell
Of her,
So permanent
After all this time,
As so many things
Fade
From memory.
The taste of her,
Forever
On the tip of my tongue,
And
Always
Within reach
Of memory,
Haunts me
Sweetly.
Timothy Vance Jackson
March 31, 2012
Tattered,
Yellowed pages,
Broken spines,
Fading ink,
Softening memories,
Dusty covers,
Sitting on the shelf
Watching me
And wondering
When I will return
To them,
And ask them
What happened
To us both
Over the years.
Who misses
Who
More?
I fear them
More than they fear
That I won’t
Return
To them.
Timothy Vance Jackson
March 20, 2012
She lies
There,
Tangled in a bed
Of knotted sheets
And missing pillows,
With her dark hair
And darker eyes,
Shining
In the morning light
Piercing
Through the still
Of breathlessness.
***
I still feel
Her skin
When my eyes
Are closed
And she is
No longer
Beside me-
The softness
And the warmth
Of her touch,
And her breath,
Against my neck,
As our bodies
Ignite
With contact.
***
The stray
Long black hair,
Clinging to my clothes,
Waiting
For me
To find it,
And remember her.
***
Her smell
Sticks to my skin
Briefly,
But she is
Permanently
In my memory,
Long after
I am
No longer able
To distinguish
Her
From myself.
Timothy Vance Jackson
March 13, 2012
I find
Myself
Between
The words
And the searching.
In the friction
Between
The finding
And the
Wanting,
I exist
In the space
Left empty
By the process.
In the uneasy
Peace
That exists
In the emptiness
Of time
Between
Fulfillment
And need,
I linger
With growing
Anxiousness
And desire
For more.
Timothy Vance Jackson
December 27, 2011
Free me
From this
Place
Within
My self,
Where doubt
Is King
And rules over
Reality
Without cause
Or reason.
Timothy Vance Jackson
December 20, 2011
The bottle
Invites
Me
Back
Into its warm embrace
With (empty) promises
Of
Creativity
And endless
Words
That flow
Freely,
Without distraction
Or concern
For where
They come from.
The well
Is
Endless
And bottomless,
Within the bottle
And its fluidity.
It calls
And beckons,
Mocking me
With its quiet
And calm-
Which I no longer
Possess
Within myself.
Timothy Vance Jackson
December 4, 2011
The words
Haunt and taunt
Me
Like memories
Of girlfriends
Who never existed,
Except for in My dreams.
Their touch,
So real,
But only
Within
My own mind,
My own dreams,
My own world.
Never a breath
Outside
Of me
And
My
Broken sleep.
I yearn
To hold them,
Nail them down,
To caress them
Into being,
Into loving me
And holding me
In their warm arms
And soft beds.
I need them,
As always,
Far more than they could possibly ever want or need me-
As always.
So close
To me,
Yet
Too far…
Too far
To hold
And love.
Timothy Vance Jackson
December 3, 2011
The sofa cushions
Are calling me
Again.
They have my name,
They know my weakness-
A total lack of
Sleep
And a false
Hope
Of a “short nap”
So that
I can
Wake up
And do a little more
Work
As the family
Sleeps
Quietly-
With a few
Snorts and grunts
And burps
From the other rooms.
In the dark
Of night,
While they rest,
I tap away
At the keys,
In the soft glow
Of my laptop-
Yearning
To hold them
Again-
Not worrying about deadlines
And print dates,
Or time
At all.
Timothy Vance Jackson
August 4, 2011
I can still smell
The freshly ground
Coffee beans,
Sitting in the jar
Behind me
On the kitchen
Counter.
I spent
Just a few
Minutes
Grinding
The beans
By hand
This morning,
With a little
Complaining
About the sore
Shoulder,
As I cranked
Slowly
With the handle,
And stuffed more
Beans
Into the hopper.
Now,
I know why
I did it-
The smell
Alone
Is worth the ache
In the shoulder.
Timothy Vance Jackson
August 4, 2011
I want
To peel back
The blankets
And climb into
Bed
With her
And sleep
Quietly
Without
The noise -
The constant damn noise inside my head that drones on and on and on about all the reasons to not rest.
I ache
Not only
For her,
But also for that
Rest
That comes
From a quiet mind
And silenced fear.
I yearn
To be
Able
To close my eyes
And wrap an arm
Around her
Body
And sleep
With only
Thoughts
Of her
Smell
And soft skin
At my fingertips
And lips.
Timothy Vance Jackson
November 19, 2010
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