FACES OF LOVE:
POEMS ON THE VARIOUS ASPECTS OF LOVE
B Y:
SCOTT PETTY
Table of Contents
DEATH..............................................................................3
SUFFERING........................................................................4
FAITH................................................................................5
MEMORIES.......................................................................6
DISTANCE..........................................................................7
OBSESSION........................................................................8
INTIMACY..........................................................................9
PURSUIT............................................................................10
WONDER...........................................................................11
KISSES...............................................................................12
LUST...................................................................................13
INNOCENT...........................................................................14
“What’s it like when you die?”
Night time together, me and my son. You
time for soft words under soft light Just kind of crumble like a bad pear
The covers of a dark That is no longer
Night. Flavorful.
And then my little boy opens the mood It’s a bit tough on the exterior but
With his innocent question: Surprisingly soft yet
“Mommy, what’s it like Powerful on the inside. It’s like
When you die?” Succulent sand that
I bring him close to his home under Dissolves on your
My bosom and try to answer Tongue.
His unanswerable question… And even though death
Is nothing like any
When you die, son, maybe it’s Other fruit, it
Like eating a pear. Has the taste
Remember those pears I brought Nostalgia even
Home last week? If it is your
I don’t know of any fruit First time.
It taste like
Sometimes dying
Has a texture like
A peach but can
Be grainy like
An orange.
Dying, son,
Is not like biting into
An apple, breaking easily
With a crunch
But your teeth sink into it
Dying can
Be like a bad pear
That kind of crumbles and
You’re so disappointed
Because that wasn’t
What you wanted
At all.
That can happen when you die.
Tears on the Sidewalk
Ten years of
dim lights
cast by flickering
candles
through muddled windows
Ten years of
cries in
muted tones
from some room
back of the house.
Plans she made as
a sophomoric girl
drawn like curtains.
Ten years and
she walks away
a woman.
SPECIAL
I see
stored in clay jars in
the depth of
God’s eyes
sentiments of blithe laughter.
She tore open the sky
to admire the deep planes
above, deep as thunder and
singing together,
as light skated down
her arms.
The camera’s flash
goes benign. The
world has shrunk and
God continues in
quiet, quiet
laughter as
you touch His knee.
Everything of Any Importance Goes in Small Tin Boxes
Her dead eyes, only
alive in a matte finish, were the only
eyes that always
saw every
good thing about me, but will never
look ever
again, always
there beneath the bed
in a small tin box.
If I Were to Describe Our Relationship
A house Can be seen
Standing all alone As
Fading yellow I
A decaying porch Descend the stairs
The frame is rotting the paint
Chipping I close the front door
Left to be forgotten I leave
A hallow attic dark and
Weary cross beams dressed in
Webs panel floor carpeted in
Dust
Alone
In
A
Corner stands a leather trunk
Torn and weak
Fading
Green like
Leaves on the verge
Of autumn
With a lock tarnished
Without confidence
I touch the leather
Course and tough the metal
Is cold and dull
A shake and no response A
Knock or two and no answer
Groping and searching but there
Is no way in I peer through the
Key hole to search the answer
Empty
Nothing
My heart sinks as I
Exit the room
Only the
Prints of my fee
You and I
Why is fast never
fast enough?
Why is far never
far enough?
Why is dark never
dark enough?
I can’t drive fast enough
to flee the face of you.
I will never be far enough
from you.
It will never be dark enough
to hide your eyes
I crossed the threshold
I peered through the window
but I still wonder what brings two
people, you and I, to
a point at the same time.
I’ve crossed too far.
I’ve gone too deep.
I’ve got to go.
Fast is never fast enough
to flee the face of you.
Far is never far enough
from you.
The night will never be dark enough
to hide your eyes.
It’s Called Intimacy
You met the sharpest turn at forty-five miles per hour
without a tense flinch or
tap of the breaks
You felt the rise and fall of the sidewalk
beneath your pounding feet
You walked around the room in the dead of night,
listlessly evading the end table and passing
the wall without a second glance
You knew that voice as it laughs a floor below
You knew that voice before you saw that face
You smelled the lingering scent of their favorite
cigarette as it dances with that one brand of
laundry detergent
that you can name without seeing
LOVE NOTES
Crack and
tink
go the rocks
you propel against
my window
to call me out
and disclose genuine love
rocks from my backyard, small
lava rocks you want
to call love notes.
I'll know you're sincere
when I hear a knock
at the front door, or
the ring of the door bell
and then you
kiss me atop a
welcome mat.
Kiss Me. I’m Delicate
A virgin day christened by the breaking light
Some muted room
shuddering in every breath he takes,
not spoken, nor heard,
but felt up and down every
fold in the linen
in every fold of his flesh. Do I really know you?
Do you really want to know me?
But there he is: naked in a
chimerical way.
He tasted like warm water last night.
I rest between the wall
on my right
and a wall on my left
but the light
or even him in his nakedness
is just a hope;
my hope that he will find
me open
in a very real way.
I wait
for him to find
me in a
corner of truth
becoming clearer to
my sight,
solid to my touch,
real to the sound
of my ears.
My eyes shut tight.
He wakes.
I feel the first
morning embrace.
Fable
And I run my hand upon her waist
swirling to
fleshy hips
the perfect kind of indent
beginning
a luscious paragraph with the kind
of language that rises and falls
poignant
as the story is told
in subtle movements with
supple kisses
emphasizing parenthetical remarks
this reader would not want
to miss.
Every pause to take in breath
leads to a new
sentence. The rules of
grammar are riven
in the heat of the moment
so I grip
her
as the plot thickens.
I am swept away into
color reverberations.
In my earnest interest I
discover the next page:
undiscovered dictionaries and
a thesaurus etched out with
her scrawling tongue.
Spellbound, I’m unwilling
to turn away, replace her cover
until I have become
familiar with
every page,
each inch
of the story,
this epic narrative.
The Sound of a Kiss
Wind that sighs heavy
Water that laps gently
on a rocky shore.
Sleep With Me
Can I fall asleep in your arms tonight?
I need somewhere warm, a heartbeat
in my ear that is not my own.
Can you run your fingers through my
hair? It’s thin on top but maybe tonight
you can pretend it’s full and soft. You can
pretend I’m a beautiful person with indigo
eyes and innocence still written on my
face.
Then I’ll fall asleep forgetting my sins, my
selfish demeanor and only remember to
forget.
