Four New Poems

by Tom Squitieri

The Road Goes Home
 
The drive has returned
Now it is the mist of the mountains
The reminder of where you are from, and who you are
Do you deserve love?
Are you indeed who you are?
The love and passion you have found this month, is it still far?
 
That dreams made for real
full of beating hearts, wetness and kisses
She walks in front of your eyes, her eyes like no other
And then walks away, and in your heart is a fissure.
 
The road was misty that early May night, leaving her and driving home. 
 You knew then
The thoughts, the dream the desires, the daring, the hope
 
Fingers crossed, hearts uncrossed. She has drilled into you, 
fracked to release all of you, 
how will you cope.
 
High in the Alleghenies, the road never lies.
it takes you to the top of what we can grasp and then there is the sky
for then it calls to you, and looks you in the eye
shall you drive on and trust, or just let it all go by?
 
Up at the summit, where there are never lies and never fears
Up at the summit, with the true thoughts that are always clear.
The Camel is lit, the eyes are closed, the inhale is deep.
Tell me, show me please, the one who sees me to keep.
 
The pavement has ended. Yet the road continues.
 
Who is she? Who is the one? The stars say she can be found.
So the drive continues, looking for each right light, 
listening for each right sound.
 
Once again, no one is on the road except me……

Odd Couple
 
Fishnet and panties conspire together, to provoke and to prevent.
 
As our veins seek the spotlight, this duo chuckles as they stir the surge and then stifle the satisfaction.
 
Now under rainbow delights, a trip to dreams and a careful stroll to harmony presents what we see. The unshackled delight in our pride. Look and see who and what we are, our bodies adorned with true beauty, and true desire.  Fishnet alone would be such a catch and panties alone suggest and lure as they tempt with their need their independence, as nothing else can be removed as they.  Because nothing can.
 
They add allure and excitement.A never before pair, now coupled in the concert of expression and slow bubbling assurance.
 
Come with both, and thus thou shall be pleased.  I shall imagine the fishnet as a basketball hoop net, to be removed after a winning dunk. Unguarded hoop for a steady sure aim. As for the panties, they are the victory towel we will wave.
 
Bodies still hidden and viewed simultaneously.  How do you deal with what is not? It is a wonderful route to our reality.

Number 27
 
Only this puff
is what she wanted
And even though
We just met
I wanted to please her
And see those
Eyes smile
 
Inhale well
I won’t tell
A deep drag
Means the sapid
taste. 
perfect congruent fit
Those lips boast
 
I do not disagree
But want to insist
On discovering myself
 
The good feeling of yearning 
This surprise of stunning
Makes winter cold sizzle
As the rainbow around the corner
the hail storm that plays a secret song
 
Do not apologize for the yearning
The want
The desire
It is more real than
The naysayers’ rules
More true
Like my radiator
Gaining steam
As I think
Of lighting it 
For you

I Still See You Fully
 
You hide from me, but I still see you. A lace mask only adds to the perfect imperfections that make us so desirable. Makes you bolder and by extension give me bravery.
 
We collide in our growing strength, surging as we become more alive. Look at me, you say, and how could I not.  Your push me away and still draw me in, tell me to do more, believe in me, in all of us, pause in for of your artistic unleashing, then go forward. We are with masks now of beauty, not mask to hide behind.
 
Your turn to left and suddenly in a pose. A freeze frame. And there it is, the definition of beauty, confidence, destination.
 
We become more alive when together. I write about how I think of us, kissing and laughing and our bodies together. Black lace mask, black lace abounding.  The starts lower for us and insist on becoming brighter just for us. They reward our wisdom and oneness.
 
Only you frame the morning, the week, the year. Gone is the concrete of the cruel world. The beauty of the mask applauds our passion of happiness and carefree, joy and true love, a symbol of lady love and a dance of dark hair.
 
There on your back, with just the mask. One arm up in independence, one rm down in desire.  You are a spell caster.
 
The mask hides nothing and reveals all to me. We see each other perfectly.

Tom Squitieri is a three-time winner each of the Overseas Press Club and White House Correspondents’ Association awards for his work as a war correspondent. He reported from all seven continents, always writing as a voice for the voiceless. His writing and reporting have been published in an array of newspapers and magazines. Tom has taken his love of story telling to poetry, to transport readers to a dreamy universe and liberating them with a potion to happiness. His poetry has appeared in The Raven’s Perch, No Strings Attached, Style Sonata and The Griffin’s Inkpot