Hair tossed up
Tongue stuck out
Fingers curled and
Foot tappin’

It’s poetry time.

I woke up next to you,
Watched your balanced breathing,
Chuckled at your tousled hair,
But the only difference was
Where I’d usually trace the words,
I love you on your back,
I typed them into instant message,
Got up,
Yawned,
Stretched,
Rubbed away eye crusties,
And turned off Skype.

When I paint you against the canvas
Forgive my amateurish brush strokes
My eyes are dew from rolling mornings
So while you’re blurry and out of focus
My focus is consumed in capturing your fingertips
***** from digging into the fresh Earth
Your green thumb growing grubs
Overrunning manicured lawns
Gentle reminders that the land is free and wild and strong
That we don’t trample it like mighty giants
But instead it bears our burdens
That Atlas is just a myth because
Not even the most supernatural man
Would withstand the weight of the world
And the harsh truth is he’d busy himself on enslaving it.

They say that when it rains it pours
But at this rate I’d like to request God
To send down a divine dove to Noah
Asking him to rebuild an Ark
But maybe this time leave behind the bees
Because I’ve been stung too many times
And haven’t tasted the slightest drop of honey.

If dust is mostly a collection
Of my own skin cells,
I hope there is enough debris
So I can sculpt a new self,
Out of a past me.

My citrus hands
Brush against floured jeans
It’s one am
I’m a little delirious
A lot drunk
And find myself
Making lemon bars
Your favorite dessert
Hoping familiar taste
Will bridge the distance
Lemon custard filling the gap in my heart.

Peach salsa
Has that tangy taste
Between sweet and spicy
Burning tongues naughtily but nicely.

Peach salsa
Is the quiet librarian of dips
Unassuming until the bun comes undone
And blink of an eye she’s a firecracker in bed.

Peach salsa
Tastes a lot like you
And our Sunday afternoons
Experiments with papaya and pineapples
Tossed in with tomatoes and crying onions
The perfect recipe for a little change and a lot of disaster.