On impulse I sputter to life,
New lungs spitting blue into the sky.
Fingers wet with the tide

That as yet
        Unspoken
                 Need

Clinging with infant fingers to my ribs.

Trap in human skin.

I reach back into the bliss,
Savoring the sensation of sin slithered across my tongue.

I have been frozen in the sun.

In dreams my respite comes,

But oh, the night slips softly away.
That unfinished chapter dissolving into day
Leaving its scent to crawl beneath my door,

That incessant, leery, lust for more.

And the terror of knowing that soon

It must

End.

Breath,
fog like.

He opened his mouth to let them out.
Soft feathered and brown,
their wings catching light in two-toned vibrato.

Seconds passed and he found me.
Fingers threaded through a sinking sun,
whispering in faded pink,
the soul of warmth clinging like wet sugar to my palms.

Sleepily he came to me,
an image of forests and fruition.
The tide of his chest gently raised
and rolling into ocean grooves.

Reaching out, I felt for his face and found
a song like wet paint, his tactile wish
for the weight of a sigh to press against him,
curious and speaking in new language
of the motion of stars.

Soledad wears her skin in caramel hues.


Heavy with a momentary mouth,
Her slow croon etches
Marlboro into the humid evening.
A passion turned to pleading,
Shaped in the image of clouds and thunder.


Her words come whispy,
Syncopated and wading in waves of forgetfulness
Where sustenance withers,
Braided into the silence and given quietly,
Softly to the sky.




High tenor,
Raspy and warm repeats
Into an stemmed crystal glass;


La inminente luna.


La inminente luna
Canta para su
Acsension a la azul.

Smokey Whisps.

Strength failing,
Teeth

Chattering.
Tiny insects.

And they circle one another.
Hands rubbed
And bathed in that cotton.

The only protection afforded
To young and
Hungry newness.

Enveloped in red,

Callous
And smiling
In a way that twitches from today
to tomorrow.

A pleading with gravitational forces.
A breathing that stops

And

Starts with gasoline.

Ever shaking.
Ever bending and losing
The way that their
Elders crawled.

An empty ribbed
Congregation.
They forget their own
Pardoned names in the end.

In an instant
It empties away.
Dull attention aching into my pulse;
Pink pressed flesh waning
Moments ahead of the tide.


And in sorrow it flakes away.
October seeping on and through
Into its neighbor month
Leaving off where a sun could have smiled.
                       Light gained then gone
                      And found again in crooked ways.
                      Crooked light creaking on heavy feet
                      With a tongue full of smoke and camphor.


Lately we have been just souls
Ebbing into the narrow,
Night snug in our palms.
And we dream of feathers
With sleep in the stems.
Ochre tied with leather cord,
Hung above the door.


When morning curves its fingers around
The dark,
We laugh like chimes in a wooden sill.
Connecting in creation of color.
And through our resonance
His tar mouth stumbles
Shaking

Into the sea.