Poetry Drawer: Stranded in a Fairy Tale: In Between Sleep: Watching: Partnered To Lost Time: Too Early For Brunch by Rp Verlaine

Stranded in a Fairy Tale

Far from
Romantic, the
rain untangles
our first embrace.

A downpour
circumvents desire
when she tells me
“I have to go”

while she attempts
covering her hair with
the poem I wrote her,
undone in an instant.

“My hair, my makeup”
she shrieks, getting
into a cab without me
as if I’m culpable.

Left stranded,
I’m a relic of

a knight
sans armour

My mighty sword
hidden, my would be
queen long gone,
& castle torched to ashes.

In Between Sleep

Been drinking all day, though its not yet night
in a crowded bar with no room to doubt
angels I talked to that might just exist
giving me warnings to seek enough light
to make peace with myself I’m still without
all that I lost, to forget or dismiss.
Sleep eludes, escorts faces of the past
to relive mistakes I can’t walk out of
with certain pleasures that grow vague each day.
Can’t say how much longer this long game lasts
I’ve played my hand both in loss and in love
I have one more drink see the time and laugh
leaving the bar a drunk walking dark streets
humming blues songs of death promising sleep.


The watch strapped
to her wrist could
be from another
As she steps
out of a car into
the forever that
will be the rest
of my day…

spent wondering
why I did not ask
for the time
to hear her voice,
signal logistics,
and checkpoint
to the eternity
I’ll need to forget her.

Partnered To Lost Time

Vanity submits truth,
saw her eyes again
predisposed to mirror.

With few ambitions
like the rainbow
after touching sky.

She studies her face
while I wait as if
Godot made promise.

We have reservations 
at a pricey restaurant 
waiting to extort us both. 

Finally, she comes out
asking how she looks
glorious, I say.

she returns to mirror
two or three more times.

Dating a narcissist
partners you to lost time
the young ones are the worst.

With that said, I’ll take
what I can steal
even borrow.

For the miracle
of her walking
across the room.

Only to me
which is all I see
if I don’t really look.

Too Early For Brunch

Huevos rancheros in a brand new place
more Anglo than Mexican yet quite good
maybe its the beer or tequila shots
That tamper my mood seeking to erase
All I took for granted, misunderstood
over a love that once burned scalding hot
which had tapered to a chill in the air.
Hard long looks of doubt and mistrust
and long drives at night just to get away.
Only to return while all too aware 
it was a mistake swallowing disgust.
Till we ended it, I guess I’m OK 
but that’s a lie I tell myself again
drunk in a tourist trap at eleven am.

Rp Verlaine, a retired English teacher living in New York City, has an MFA in creative writing from City College. He has several collections of poetry including Femme Fatales, Movie Starlets & Rockers (2018), and Lies From The Autobiography 1-3 (2018-2020).

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