dry words
urge another form
--monsoons gather

I don't age while i'm awake
but in my sleep my time is slipping
just the tracing of grooves
keeps the record for skipping
the ripping
of ripe red fruit from the branches
the juice sticking to
the teeth of
a woman
the romances!
the chances you take
are given freely
i love the moves you make
but you need only see me
to free me

so please
whatever you do
don't let me sleep

i want to take a picture of you
and in the picture, i want you to be naked
and there should be sweet smelling things
and though we won't smell them
we'll know because
we were there
we took the picture
and if we forget
the light smile on your lips
in the picture
will remind us

I've never seen something that wasn't reflection

I make up little games for myself sometimes
placing bets on the future, silly things

and I dropped a vitamin C tablet accidentally this
afternoon, immediately declaring a wonderful
something (written dream spoken
aloud) would transpire should the
next one be pink as well
rather than orange or yellow

and it was, so I
smiled a bit and
hope shone an
ounce brighter
tonight

To speak with movement,
as if our words were water.
All the hours you've spent
as the plotter;
the spotter of splits,
hiccups and missed bits
of info that slipped
out of sight
while we were
dancing.

Every spark flying from fires,
every dark moment conspired,  
by those discerning,
rising higher
in the burning
of books,
last looks,
and the things you took,
so as to
give them back again.

Drop your guns
but don't run.
Keep your feet
met with the deep
feelings that keep
you tethered
together.

Love like drums
is humming
inside empty buildings
with broken windows,
waiting.