Wrap your pensive fingers
around my jaw
and pull me closer.

Make me forget that her name
is still stuck between your teeth;

show me what it's like
to forget the
                        pain.

- k.m.

fingers grasp around you
the ribs of my embrace
slicing solitude in ribbons
wrapping new flesh
with shy promises
filling up the body
of a possibility
its youthful iridescent eyes
now blossoming
giving out near-future sparks
to the world-pyre

The warmth of his body against mine.
The gentle touch of his fingers on my skin.
His left thumb slowly dragging across my bottom lip, chin, and neck, delicately being placed above my collarbone.
His index drawing invisible infinities on my shoulder.
Middle, resting ever so lightly after a night filled with lust.
On his ring finger, a wedding band, similar to mine.
His pinkie, keeping all of its promises over the years no matter how small.
Each finger playing a different role,
All intertwined with mine now.
An innocent touch.

Worth the wait.

Slips through fingers
Like moon-silk threads
Waiting to be drawn out
Into something beautiful

I know I am holding on too tightly.
Afraid that if I lift my grasp,
You will slip through my fingers like sand.

floating smoke in the summer air
drifting along then dissipates.
the pounding in a head,
vessels pulsing and constant movement.
fingers dancing across a keyboard, to
incorporate a checklist of knowings and
to-be-knowns -
the insecurities of new scenery
mile marker after mile marker
and you’re happy, but irresolute.

someone tripped over the cord again,
yanked it out and dragged it away

a moment, and a guarantee
let’s look and see, to be sure there’s something more
than a simple crank of a machine, grown
rusted and unmanageable over years
I’m tracing back,
looking for something
I think I missed it.
these fingers that hold my wrist
and suggest
“please, let me assist”
you know what’s best.

She was a shy, sensitive young woman with smaller hands and lean, long fingers that beautifully graced the pencil as she wrote poetry, or rather, the whispers of her heart within a small leather notebook, whenever she became curious, the dark, lustrous brown eyes would glimmer in fascination as the entire world would become you, she was not particularly beautiful though her heart was pure, remaining hidden through her poetic worlds as though listening to classical music, the streams of violins are the winds tousling her midnight hair as a dreamer of the night, her quiet demeanor and depth in thought hide her way in understanding and shaping a person or only musing about the simple beauty of the moment, she would see the stars while everyone walked past them and appreciate what others could not see at first glance, as the light once hidden among the leaves she was noticed by the one who had came closer, while placing her palm on her fair face when thick in listening, the painted portrait of the female poet always held her cup of warm tea, content in her recluse until there was a gaze upon her, opening a glimpse into her soul.