Lori Boulard Poems

HIS name? Please. What man
among us lives solely for
the touch of your lips
and the “mmmm” that oozes
...

a really good song has your throat by the first eight-count
owning your heartbeat as it opens up wide

it lays on your tongue smooth as chocolate
...

You ask why I write.
Why I stray in open spaces,
settling in corners, seeking
paper, leaves, anything
...

you exhaust me
your curiosity frustrating
I wish I could hold your energy
just enough in a bottle
...

Trouble always starts with a smile,
especially when punctuated with deep
hazel eyes. Come seven on a Saturday,
my heartbeat syncs with the song on the radio,
...

promise me
that when all is said and done
there will not have been
precious moments wasted
...

In the hours before dawn I like to eavesdrop.
Muffled by their worn leather bindings,
the writers converse-
Shakespeare pleads a play
...

I am not brilliant.
I highly doubt I ever will be.
I chased it once, came face
to face with it, was stared
...

He gives me that look
and I know what's coming.

I set down my book and we get to it.
...

Menacing clouds join their hands above my head,
tearing me from the arms of my lover, the sun.

Trees shoot their annual fireworks display,
...