Thursday, December 2, 2010


I keep thinking he'll walk into a bookstore. A bookstore where I am perched on a love seat, bereft of wings, until I finish this piece.

Nothing will break my focus; not the child cramming a huge block of Starbucks rice and marshmallow bar down his throat, the older woman who sips tea in whispers, or the slim-fitted-jeans-quirky-tee-and-a-smile brother walking through the front doors.

I don't ask for much. There's no need for long walks on any one's beach, perfectly pouted lips, or smooth tone. I just want words. Words, so tender that my vulnerability will find its way to a plateau parallel to his eyes. Those eyes, frequently pressed to small black words in a bargain book. A struggling artist, could have been on Wall Street, but prefers to play Picasso in an empty studio apartment. I'd like to fill in the blanks. Where does it hurt? Your heart? The slow and effortless brush on the painting of the girl next door, who never took you seriously? The aborted womb of an ex-lover? Your favorite seat in the bookstore, taken by the girl with a roaring journal and silent pen?

Sorry, I'm not getting up.

I'm too affixed on what section of the bookstore intrigues you. Should I fidget with the binding of a text foreign to me to nudge your attention? Perhaps, I'll sigh loudly hoping you'll catch an interest or a contagious yawn. What happens when your future sits next to an invisible door of opportunity dressed in Nike's and knowledge?

Should I leave you here? Depriving you of the notion that the curve of your latte cup resembles my collar bone. Shy of a conversation with penetrating eyes and twiddling thumbs. Will we tightrope walk the boundary of forever and right now?

Will you notice me here? A pen in tow, drifted to another segment of my journal, a distance from a now betrayed poem. I wonder if those eyes--glancing my pen for a moment--detected its loyalty to your attributes.

I apologize-ahead of time--for speaking you into existence. But now that you're here, would you mind being a figment of my imagination?


T. ODIS said...


You and your ole' "beautiful-prose-writing-arse".

A Picasso of pronouns, you are.

Rock on.

Spit forever.


Laina Christine said...

This is awesome and I hope to see your poetry book on my coffee table some day. =)

Unknown said...

I exclaimed over a few lines of your short story..."nikes and knowledge". Whaaat.

I always check your updates, you have an insanely, well-built word game.

Much love.

Veronica said...

this was BEAUTIFUL!

bkashawna said...

great job. beautiful.

DR. Theory said...

One can't read a book the refuses to open... Great poem. Solid Words

riva. said...

Thank you guys. ;)

@T.O.- I do this for YOU son. Lol, I'm so proud of what you're doing with your work.

@Laina- I hope so too!!!

@Rio Awww thank's. *blush* Can't wait to see you here again.

@Veronica I appreciate you.

@BKShawna I appreciate you too.

@DR Theory STOP. You know why I'm saying that. Thanks for the love anyway. ;)

Amber Steez said...

"What happens when your future sits next to an invisible door of opportunity dressed in Nike's and knowledge?"

your pen game is simply beautiful dope piece riva