See
Painting pictures perpetually
to help blind men see.
With pen and spoken word
worlds are built in their mind’s eye,
scenes seen without seeing,
imagination crafting a reality
imperfect but perfect
to those who see.
as of now all of my emotions are coming out my head wild & not my chest
my anxieties wet mud hardening into a cold moon in my chest
my heart a strawberry pink moon casting damp spells
inside me something rattles against my chest
i want to step outside my body & hold myself two half moons weeping
deep dark & full spilling earth into one anothers chests
i need to make myself full i say to no one daily, walking life cyclical
i am the plants on my windowsill yearning for light, i can feel them in my chest
who will i become? me? trapping light behind my eyes
looking for galaxies outside of loneliness echos inside my chest
Pitch black
Eyelash,
Clinging to your shirt,
Contrasts
The blonde
Feathering on your eyelids,
A secret
We keep,
Messily but no one knows,
How I
Feel,
Not even you.
an open book, leatherbound with a tattered cover
rests on an antique nightstand
the dim orange glow from a hurricane lamp provides
perfect light to imagine you using my body as a lectern from which to read your sacred words
you rest one hand on my shoulder
and I accept the weight of a tome
you place upon exposed dimples of Venus
my spine pressing against its spine (waiting patiently)
while you scratch notes above perfect parallel lines
to break my concentration as devoted object
and usher my return to curious creature
my hips shift,
like a soft wave summoning a lost sailor ashore
you sweep your lips with feather-light precision against my ear
your hands follow whispered words
wandering along my serpentine frame
where you will be granted safe passage to discover
untamed urge
Piled on my parents’ quilt,
It’s been a weird week
without my car
and not seeing my baby.
It’s even freakier
how time gets sneakier.
It’s now June,
but it was just Easter.
I can’t really tell the days apart either.
Some days are blurs
as most are meager.
At times it’s hard to be my own boss
and I just want to follow a leader,
but I probably wouldn’t trust them either.
oh well,
I’ll just keep waiting for tomorrow like it’s Christmas.
no real plans, just checking a few things off the endless to do list but not with too much ergency, sleeping in a little later, no rush mornings, breakfast and lunches eaten later and with each other, dinners on the grill, sitting outside like you dont have anywhere to be, iced tea in one hand and a book in the other
