painters block

the little blond girl
in a white dress
sits on my easel

unfinished

the ocean tide laps at her feet
threatening to sweep away
her almost existence.






© 2008 by Danielle Romanick

I sat at my desk like I do everyday
Useless searching And typing away
Looking for one page TAX 550 starting with XC
not LW in a database of 200 thousand and three
when suddenly
I remembered what it felt like to kiss you
Back in high school
In your living room
How comfortable I felt on your L shaped couch
the softness of your lips
the innocence of a boy who didn’t really know
how to kiss
the smell of your cologne
(that still finds me in the city)
and your house
candles and cigarettes.
And I paused and remembered you
And all the smiles you brought me
And I paused – long enough to smile
And be a little sad
At the many wrong turns
I may have made.





© 2008 by Danielle Romanick

he claimed it
took what was not his
to take
layer by layer
stripped it
of all its idiosyncrasy
every bit
that made it special
gone away
until it existed
naked
nothing more than a
sullen,
plain,
fragment
of faded glory






© 2008 by Danielle Romanick