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I’ve got a wild hair
This oil spill running through my soul
Reflects iridescent rainbows
Soft shadows clinging to dark depths
I inhale the star dust of old bones
They scatter my brow, meteorites plunging across the edges of my sight
Exhale
The wind like burning sonnets
As I belt out across the wide expanse of fading cotton candy sky
My lungs ache with unspoken words, ones I long to whisper, to sing
Instead I scream until my legs feel weak
There is no more left of me
But for the rich loam of Appalachia curving crescents beneath each fingernail
Hold fast babbling brook
Hold fast
Wanderer Apr 14
Painted toes, the color of ripe eggplants
Flutter and kick around as giggles bubble the rim of my hard edges
Days gone by in silence, broken now by mirth
Drunk on a spring afternoon's nectar
I catch the sparkle in your eye, knowing
What comes next will have me breathless, wanting
"Please" whispered softly as giggles fade to sighs
You love it when I beg
I need this, you, here in the sunshine
Gilded fingertips tracing my tarnish
Chasing away the darkness with the promise of warmth
Wanderer Sep 2019
The radio has gone silent
No news across crushing blue depths
If whispers I cannot hear
I would give much for even a morsel
To know how you fare
Missing you
Wishing you well
Has anyone any news they can share about S.G. Holter? It’s been months since I heard anything about his health. I’m worried.
  Aug 2019 Wanderer
Akira Chinen
do you ever think that
maybe the sun gets tired
that maybe she just needs
one night to herself
just one night to sleep
one day off to let
her fiery hair down
to find an ocean
big enough to swim through
a river wide enough
to float down

do you think she minds
that we write so many
poems to the moon
that we marvel
in awe and wonder
mesmerized by the moons light
forgetting even at night
its her light
lighting our way

do you ever wonder
what it must be like
to always be rising
to always be out
to always be hanging
somewhere in the sky
to always feel the fires burning

to never know the joy
of a cool breeze
to never find shelter from the heat
in the shade of a great oak tree
to never have your hands
go numb from playing in the snow

what must it be like to be the sun
do you ever stop to think
how tired she must be
to always be burning
burning so bright
all that light
all that warmth
keeping this earth alive

do you think she minds
all the poems we write to the moon
that we stay up so late
sleep in so often
and treat doing so as a luxury
that we relish the time
she is absent from the sky
do you think she minds
Wanderer Aug 2019
If I could give but one word of advice
It would be like corn silk to wet fingers mid-shuck
You doing your best to shake them off
Sticking all the same
You asked
A smile curves at sun wrinkled corners
Once again I fall all ripe peach juicy
Right into your calloused hands
We roll and chase, playing children in an orchard heavy soaked with late August light
Green moss intensity locks with my whiskey amber stare
Breathing you in, wanting you deeper than I can hold a secret
Golden hour glows around whispering fingertips
Sipping softly of your sweetness
Nipping at heated skin
Dizzy tilt my head back until the sky goes wild with stars
Lay me gentle into tall grass
Giving promises to love me hard
Wanderer Aug 2019
There is softness here
Lullabies and water lily lies
Half moon curved on trembling lips
Do I even want to know?
I sigh into the shadows were you used to reside
I almost cannot bare the weight of your echo
Solace in moonshine and borrowed time
Until the sun breaks over the mountains edge
Not to be complacent but how else should I handle this?
Wagon wheels turn with gravel sung rumble
Swinging water lily lies and a goodbye kiss
Wanderer Aug 2019
I have been lit by candle
Wreathed in darkness
Kissed by that magic hour between twilight and 3am
None have held me
Rhythm of longing beats on through the night
Fingertips grasp for yours to keep company
Solitary and solemn without your shadow to whisper to
What happened then?
Where did you slip off to that I did not notice until the cold seeped in betwixt the floorboards of our secret place?
I fall on knees already sore with roses turned to bruise while waiting for an echo
Faint light dances, just a sliver
Bright enough to tease but too faint to ease
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