Curling waves
and peacock feathers
swirl on my
tongue, move through
my blood at dizzying rates
distorted at dawn.

My
life is
so steeped in
reality
I don't even have time for fantasy.

If truth be told
wandering souls
find just what they need
if only it leads
straight to
you and me.

I always laugh at inappropriate times
there's never any reason or rhyme
why I'm fashionably late
and can't stand to wait
or why, as close as we are,
your nearness seems far.

Had we met before this day,
what would fate say?

That I'm always
a little too little, too late.

She packed only what she needed.  Too bad he didn't fit in her luggage.

She loved his work calloused hands,
the way he tipped his hat to strangers,
and his rain-soaked kisses.

She hated sweet tea,
collard greens,
and the word, 'Y'all.'

They packed up and moved to the South.

The door shut in her face
another day out of place
she sits alone inside herself.

Behind those electric blues
no one has a clue
what storm she's brewing.

It's time to seek shelter.