On this day,
of 35 years.
Humbled by,
the cycle of death.
I place my foot,
on sodden wood.
Embracing,
the November wind.
It's cruel and nips,
at my blue fingertips.
There is something,
new and also blue.
That pushed me out,
into the deep cold sleep.

Your eyes.

She is soft buttery goodness

Her golden curls embalm her in Heavenly light

She slathers on her goodness and brightens the darkness

Her sticky drawl is a hymn

She is a warm, familiar sweetness

She is home

i bathe in serene
sleepy mountainside ledges
kissed by lips of fall

The waves crash and recede
In a language I do not speak

The mists drift in from sea
and whisper gently unto me

In this midnight air
I feel the silent pull

of something far away

as currents twist and turn
the sea side flowers bend

a dance, a waltz, a love
a romance with the wind