Press me against you
Like flowers in a book

"I'm not a poet. I don't feel like one.
I like writting. That's all."

Oh, little grey cat,
come sit on my lap.
and snuggle like
my old departed
feline used to do.

Too independent
as cats tend to be,
maybe in time you
will perch on my lap
and purr contentedly.

Truth be told, I fully
understand your
affection shown is
way more about your
needs than mine.
The rest of the time
you could not care less.
Cats are the ultimate
animal hedonist.

I dram your hair was buzzed and over the back of your head a shaved crown with a yellow outline. You are well; my hope is that you are well.

I ate fire
and I swam with it
in my belly splashing
my arms around

beneath my feet
the ancientness
of dirt called
for the wind
that once helped
cool the magma
that became long
stretches of continents

(The firm rock under
my floating forehead)