Passerby

Track 1

A little conversation is all it takes on

                    the beach at day break. Kiss me gently

                                   as quiet notes waft across the sand

                         out of the open door of your car idling

                                             in the background. The only sound is

                                        you and me and the pristine waves as

                                                            your lips sear your name on my

                                                  tongue and the soft guitar serenades

                                 the silence. Hold me closer, feel me warm

                    against you. The water is beautiful.

Lone Tree - Rachel Schneider

Medium: 

Calligraphy pens on paper

We-dentity Crisis

You don’t think I love you enough? How the hell

can I love you when I hardly know how to love

me? Who even am I? Why am I asking you,

if you bothered to know you wouldn’t tell me

to love you more when you know I love you

more than anything. Oh, but I guess that’s not

enough for the man who takes everything except

a chance to put someone else first.

Track 5

Hard rock as            the door lock slides

   slowly into place, drowning out the

memory of your               face before you

         stepped over the threshold. The

timing was wrong              but I had hoped we

    would fight to save what wasn’t yet

broken. Now           headless dolls stumbling

  aimlessly across the toy box are what

we have become.            Too far even to run

 back into ear shot. Turn the music up.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Before our first date you bought me white lilies. I guessed you didn’t know the symbolism. But as the two of us become one for the who-knows-what time – you, deep inside me and I, clenched tight around you – I wonder if you did. Sometimes I feel as if we have become dead together. Your burning skin pressed against me, answering my need, no longer smells like cinnamon, only sweat. As your lips caress my collarbone, my breast, my navel you no longer taste strawberry, only salt. This four-story apartment building, box-shaped and bland, no longer is a stepping stone to a better life, but just another reminder of how our plans fell through. I remember the lilies as your hands squeeze my aching flesh, too warm for a corpse. The sun rises and the birds chirp and I convince myself that we are not yet dead. Even if that sun has long faded our yellow curtains. Even if we hardly speak. Even if you no longer call me liebe, though  we still make love. Even if your touch is the only thing I’m still living for.

Crime of Passion

I saw you, anonymous among the masses, a

passerby spending some time. Come closer,

lead me into artificial intimacy. Body on body,

eat me, crave me. A strange, succulent sweet.

Are we still strangers? I feel I know you so well.

Do you even know my name? Does it matter?

Give me more and who we are won’t matter.

Under these pulsing lights we could be anyone.

I am yours, sweet stranger, just for this song.

Let the beat hide our fears, inhibitions, and

those who are holding us back. The air is hot,

you stick to me. Sweaty sheets and mussed up makeup.

Deja Vu

I’ll make everything up to you, love.

Hands grasping hers, knee against the steering wheel.

The shadow of the steeple blankets them

through the windshield, crossing his heart.

He is Judas, throwing back the silver.

He is not who he was. Neither is she.

And yet they’ve been here before.

To The Once Ingénue

The giver of blood and love is fragile

as it beats faint within the fold of your

broken breast. The giant’s grass of the forest

sways gently in the wind, unaware of your

selfish weight crushing the earth below.

You used to dance with grace as light as a breeze

among the blossoms of spring, but now you

have been stripped and knocked down, lying

heavy in the cold dirt of disenchanted

winter. You bury yourself in the decay of your

innocence as the rain of remorse now pours down

your cheeks. The one who did this to you feels no

regret. You let him take the silver trinkets

from your pain-streaked body and he

hung them from the bedpost that he might

admire those trophies of his conquest.

You have given up that blissful ignorance that you

once held so dear. Now you must stand alone and

face the world, for he is not there to lift you.

There is no changing what has been done.

Lone Tree - Rachel Schneider

Medium: 

Calligraphy pens on paper

Track 3

Low beats pound deep beneath our

                    skin so close under wrinkled sheets.

                    Sweat as heat penetrates our bodies,

pressed against each other, gripping,

                    unrelenting. Keep the rhythm of what

                    you’re giving to me. Please. Release the

hate you make me feel.  Least of all

                    I love you. Most of all I love you.

                    Shades of gray but I’m seeing red.

Your touch is more forgiving than any priest.