i sing a song of the cooing dove
that orbits in blue skies above;
biding time and waiting,
seeking wings of love.

i sing a song of waters still,
teeming underneath;
of predators that seek out fish
until they've had their fill.

i sing a song of swaying grass
on African savannahs;
that weather through nature's cruel
and bend as the winds pass.

i sing a song of songs to sing,
aloud, accompanied;
for one appreciates alone,
but two enjoy a thing.

Last night is blurry in my sleep fogged mind,
through my smudgy black eyes.
But I can feel the ghost
of the awkward,
stumbling,
kisses we shared,
the faint tickle of your hot breath
that whispered down my neck.

Did it really happen?

They couldn't think of something to say
the day you left.
When it rains it pours, you said.
I nodded and took another drag.
We would watch the dogs run around the yard,
oblivious to what had just happened,
and pretend we could be just like them.
I couldn't think of what to say,
short of "I love you, mom" but even those words
choked coming up.
So we sat in silence, and pretended we were everything around us,
and nothing inside of us,
while everything outside of us was falling apart too.

"I hate this **** house" you said.
I nodded and took another drag.