seventy candles flicker in a room full

the sweet union of voices

sixty-nine times before that day

the man walked the moon when I was ten

I had heard stories and so I dropped

the mentos

as my son speared it into the sky

giggles erupted and hearts soared

As our chins tilted toward the sun

Me and her, we lost touch

been 5 years now I’ve been sober

We took the bottle to the porch

Smashed it to one thousand

pieces, scattered with sharp edges

We sliced-up our fingers cleaning

oh, the mess we made.

honey tangy nectar.
coat-your-mouth
gives crunch drip

oblique emerald tears
firmy cushiony give
speckled red, burnished orange

creviced crimson deep
garish grooves
bite-jarring grind

acrobatic twirling
diplomatic fingers
whittled down
to the core.

Things are supposed to matter
You take comfort in your own company
Lying with yourself of the want to belong
When really all there is
Are miles of fresh air
From the distance you have driven

Your noise sounds
like an echoing cavern

change the reflection
crack the mirror

Reverberation magnifies

We are our favourite flowers
Steeped in a full vase
Seasons pass -
with the dipping water.

We forget  / or were not
taught. To add our own flower
food. To cut our own
stems. To cultivate our own
cuttings.

Seek not to be
crisp, divine, distinct
For it is already
apparent.

Be it if you
are fanned, variegated or needled
voluptuous or diffident
fresh or heartfelt  
Or just ****** herbaceous

We are own favourites.
We forget that to be in the vase
was a choice
For we can always resettle, reposition, repot,
for the coming season.

Is a sin
The small acts
The things we try but can not do

We forget ourselves
We get lost in time

I don’t know where the years went
Or so the saying goes

I look around and see families
Children
Friends less and less
And more and more formally