Under the shine of the moon,
Hand in hand on the strand,
Listening to the subtlest of sounds,
Of hearts and minds entwined,
And lives tangled together,
With the moon's passings.

A glance, a wink, a blown kiss,
A mist, a vapor,
Disappearing time traces.
Brief fleeting things,
Brought to memory,
In times as this!

A touch, a rub, an embrace,
Whispered words loudly heard.
A sweet mash of lips,
Leading to luscious heights,
With throes of ecstasy,
While standing in dreamy repose.

A fresh love grown old,
Tempered like finest steel,
Against life's arrows and flames,
A love to press on,
Till breath is gone,
And the shine is no more.

© 2016 Jim Davis

“I won't drink the tap water, its poison here”
and when she declared that,
I couldn't decipher if she meant here
as in Northside, or here as in America.

We ate sushi at 2am in the city
I was trying not to show my drunkenness
but I was stumbling into an accent
my grandparents carried with them

tucked in the backs of their mouths,
now peering out of mine.
testing the hydrogen
in the beer
in the back of my throat.

I need sleep,
I'm hungover
This poem can wait.

My mind seems to move itself,
spinning somewhat
while I remain stationed
to soft and tattered cushions

At times, not sure who's moving
Mind or body
like parking next to someone
who's leaving the lot

for a moment
you're caught in the standstill
Where nothing really stands,
Still.

I need sleep
My head feels fuzzy
This poems not great.

Its much later now,
the world seems
more capacious somehow
When my eyes are fully open.

The last of my confounding
half light musings
dissipate like tendrils,
mist in the rising sun  

and I, I am left behind
in the residue,
The hardened truth
that cannot move.

“This water is poison”
Her words echo through my day
and I wonder if this poison
will ever evaporate from our veins.

C.e.M. 12.15.2016