I forget what speaks louder of you;
if it is the hunger of my lips
longing to kiss you
or the kiss waiting discretely
to be born from yours
swaying on the verge of vulnerability

I forget if it is the kiss
that tender
and irresistible
becomes unbreakable;
your soul’s assent

or if it is the words in note
the morning writes and you erase
in an innocent attempt to
hesitate your truth
pausing at its tip

or the shrug
off your left shoulder blade
that briefly masks your will
before it is abandoned
at the edge of quiet moments
when you heed without refrain

It is the candidness of silence wept
to carry the ripest, sweetest kiss
onto my wanting lips
without disturbing yours
 in truth
unrelentingly
and quietly insatiable

On the morning he left
before he took that half a turn into the street
he said to her that strength is measured
not in the unyielding clasp
but in all set free

Mindful of her fragility
he knew she drew from a deep well
her life appearing strong
yet his advise could be wrong

and yet she could not dwell
in any words he left with her;
a keepsake
a token promising
he'd count the steps he took upon return

for a promise made when one is leaving
is hard to believe
as we've all heard them before
no words ever spoken nor written
can touch trust at this level
until his return has come to fruition
and he comes back home

and so she followed his steps
as far as their sound would take her
setting him free
so their embrace could live
unbroken, eternally

A collaboration with Mark Cleavenger. Thank you for the honor Mark.

The whole avenue unfurls before my eyes.
Buildings change shape.
Billboards, the letters of the alphabet.
Neon lights scream bedlam.
Men and women scurry hither and thither.
Faces change expression
in a swirling flux.
I looked at the scene through a wide angle lens
over a wide span of time.
Then zoomed into the particular.