I remember the sound
                        of your September sorrow
Letters roaming the distance that stretched between us
Your words a constant companion to the coming cold
My lips wished every day to greet yours come morning
The scent of lavender and mint drifting through our room
Sunlight pouring gently over your distinct features
A heart full of love shining softly in your eyes
As you wake up to my warmth next to you
Some day your scrolled worship reads
I will be closer
                                            No more wishing
Folding your letters again and again as I pull them out to revisit
The gentle longing I can still feel in their varied stains of ink
            Give me a reason and I won't break down
Is the last line of the first one you sent
Still haunting and hopeful
          We have so much more to give
So much more in store 
*Some day soon

I **** softly on my finger tip
Showing you exactly what you are missing from so far across the room
Your dark eyes keep a steady stare on my tongue and teeth
Paying extra attention the way my soft mouth wraps around my flesh
With as much grace as I can muster
I unfold out of the chair I was occupying
Straighten my satin teal cocktail dress and head towards you
The crowd is crushing tonight
Too many panting, grinding bodies between you and I
When I finally reach you my heart is racing
My mouth wet
A trickle of sweat slides down my chest
Settling in my ample cleavage
I want you to lick it off me
To ******* desire
You lean in close
Wrapping one arm around my waist as you do
“I want to tear you apart” whispered against the sensitive shell of my ear
My body trembles, leans into the pull of yours
You guide me out onto the dance floor
Where slow, pulsing music hypnotizes our hearts to beat as one
Twirl and grind. Spin then wrapped tight again.
As the music ends and blends into something upbeat
My voice is soft and pleading “Take me home.”
Eyes sparkling, breath quick, you thread our fingers together
**Leading me out into the night

I would beseech you to say anything
for your mouth is a sacred place
a thin, modest gate where even
your fits of grand or ill humour
are formed into soft, tender shapes.

I know well enough to leave that gate shut
so that no beautiful tempests can billow out, curtain-like
and sweep us off our feet, blowing us so far apart that
I cannot find you again.

And so I sit cross-legged before you,
fists under my chin like a little child.
Listening to your silence
and wondering how you are.

Even in this silence

there is solace.




                                       *I miss you.

He used to be more aware
Vision peripheral instead of pinpointed
More real
More free
He remembers what choice tasted like
As he rolled each opened ended one across his kaleidoscope tongue
He knew this would drown him before he could breathe again
His heart lines had turned to dust
Blowing gently into the visceral wind of his malady
This left him misguided
Every hand through his
Fingers entwined
Became collateral in this new war he did not know how to fight
All encouragement fell on his now deaf ears
All he could hear was the weighted hum
Of personal failure
Another day spent in bed past noon
Joints moaning in protest when pushed to function
He would pull himself together
Sew the chasms and fizzures close
**If only he could make that choice

Woke up with fall air crisp and burning it's way
Down into the breezy interior of my summer heart
Mornings like these beg to be alone
The solitary pulse of rushing blood sets the tempo
My steps sure and quick on unforgiving asfault
Colors weave through my vision
Catching the earth in mid costume change
Feels provocative.
We are all peeping Tom's.

And when I molt
you make a headdress of the selves that
have fallen from me with time.
Like you, they are colourful and cautious.

And as you carefully creep skyward,
I throw myself down in the cool grasses
of your lengthening shadow.
I was tired. It made sense to rest.

And so we played with feathers and inches
as children do.
Running in circles and circles until we fell asleep holding hands.

What were we,
but our love?

If I use the right words
anything I say in these first three lines
will urge you to



Point made.