in the wisps of mist
stroking the curves
of a sleeping mountain
I hear a call

husky tones
siphoned off
by a cold wind
mocking

I see you still
as a filtered moon
drifts over my lashes
quivering

like the scent of you
as we dance
skin to skin
close

I was once a Wolf and
ran free in the woods,
Now I'm a tired old dog
that hides in the barn.
Such is the way of aging
and change.

sometimes
i wish you were the poet
because sometimes
i just want to be the poem

i can smell the coffee beans,
in your breath all day,
the smell of your clothes,
when we met today,
you smelled of tulips,
and heavily of cologne,
i love the smell of freshness,
that you always seem to hold

I've kept this pain away.
Held it at bay,
since the day
of Your
unwanted
touch.

Now You are old.
I take care,
as this is My loving
duty. Reversal of
roles.

Time has stilled
the tremors
of angst.
Turmoil and
discomfort.

Yet, when bothered,
Your harsh tones
enter My body
and heart,
unwanted.

Perturbation
with words,
accusations that
I was the
troubled one...

Grown Woman
that I am,
I find myself
11 years old
once again


Copyright © 2016. Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved