I unpacked your boxes too quickly.
I exposed the whiteness of your thighs
freckled by the reddish-brown hairs
I uncovered the wrinkles in your blue iris
the lies and tears behind your front teeth
evenly crooked

I wanted your words to flutter from your mind
but they dropped from your throat to the floor
I wanted your laughter in your core to be kind
but it came from a shallow, envious drawer

I pulled strands and veins out of boxes
Found bundles and tangles
that I assumed should be unraveled
but when I pulled and twisted one straight,
you left in your car with a crunch in the gravel
Drove straight into the arms of
Malbec wine
at low rise tables with one chair,
an excerpt from a novel bent at the spine
and the sweater you never let me wear

I drank from the pint glass you brought home for me
and it wasn't a statement.
I wore no mask.
I simply sipped.
It's only meaning to transport water to my lips
Calmly, coating my belly
So slowly I'd wait
Imagining water burning like *****
Barreling down my throat
like an interstate

I wanted it back
the feeling of feeling
the fear that walks with revealing
the love, the artist, and the lunatic
all cooked together and left to steep

I pulled out my own strands
the ones anchored deep.
I worked endlessly to straighten
You wrapped yourself in my veins
to tightly
You were trapped in the bundle
so you ran, then came a stumble
forgetting that I was anchored too
and so you pulled me right down with you.

And I left you there
with your tearful stare
I bunched up these strands
and laid out my demands
I carried them off, the tangled mess
You once announced was yours to hold
but you overestimated yourself
and watched me become cold
A block of ice, you could never melt
you were not all, you were not my wealth
you were only the weight I felt.

It seems we are all linked together
Common threads, knit stitched
Different hues,different languages
All races created by The Most High God
One Father
One family

I see you working hard all day
I catch glimpses of you
While I play
I'm so thankful
When you call me in to eat
And when we pray
As I lay down to sleep
Thank you Mama
For your loving compassion
Someday I'll show you
Just how much I appreciate
Your time, love, and adoration

~

I mistook
the sea for
the sky while
it slumbered
mid the garden
where I was
dreaming
*in poetry

-

When caught of wretched moaning shrill
and rusted fence in spite
Where creatures stalk and blood shall spill
this wicked August night

Does call the wind in grand charade
of noises gripping sound
Beyond the weeds of sharpened blade
now crushed upon the ground

For as your eyes do cast your fear
with ridicule the seed
And cry your shining empty tear
for clemency you plead

Feel these fingers swiping firm,
flesh in tattered strands
Matters not how much you squirm
or pray with folded hands

When terror forms your face to bear
this crooked smile sneers
Clenching tight your matted hair
as breath soon disappears

Drenched of sweat and splashing mud
from footprints as you flee
Listen close the echoed thud
of nothing you can see

Languish deep with sorrowed call
these thoughts a’ roam your head
This night shall cackle at your fall
and drink when you are dead

Under the stars we'd spend our nights, observing all of the heavenly lights.
Under the night's sky, in peace, and rest, a moment in time entirely ours. Your hand in mine, truly one of a kind, a night bright with a quiet affection in no need of words, a glow of the heart, lighting the dark.
Now under the black speckled sky, I don't know why, but a single tear leaves my eye, alone in the night, looking upon the heavenly light.
Time passed along, and so I'll carry on under the stars.

Racing the reaper, his speed so slow he'll never catch me, I'm like lightning, as if he'd ever over take me.
Time moves on, and our race goes on, his speed the same as always, yet I seem a tad slower, still I out pace death, it's truly effortless.
It's as if I'm running out of steam, is this a dream? A threat so far off, now riding my heels, so this is how death feels, cold, alone, an accursed fate, so to death I yet refuse prostrate.
With the last of my strength gone, I fear I'll be moving on, in a race with death is no rest, no finish line to cross, only points in the road to pass as you move along, once again, it appears it's death for the win, this is the end.

the only difference between a dream and reality, is that you wake up.