Her shoulder *****
open to the sun
reveals the long road
to warmer sands,
where her heart beats
the waves in the ocean,
as the bass through boards
on her holy dance floor,
private, secluded.
Her trim of green
smells of a sweet
musk, patchouli, of
old cinnamon
I fill my lungs
I pretend that she's smoke,
invites and then guides
my journey toward her
sacred equator.

|||||||||||||||. . .

On the run, the run, on the run
There's a place to which I'd like to travel
But I've been there before THAT'S
HOW I GOT THIS WAY BY HAVING
HAPPINESS actualized and two heavy
hands to wipe it all away
Disintegrate, disintegrate
On the run, the run, on the run
Invitation is one thing -- I don't deserve
The want is with me the
heart is pure

This spirit, though
still broken from
whatever time before
today.

Ours is like a strand of yarn
Stretched across a narrow gap
Though the wind berates
And the rain pours out in the summer storm
It will not break, it will endure
But perhaps in time will sag and fray
As if we let it so to go
Or even chose to cut it down
Because you have your own phone lines now
Made of woven steel and unbroken arms
As we were just a childhood yarn
Or a single strand between two hearts