Atlantic thoughts of fish, schools on schools
what could be better than this, living with no rules
dog days, your cute face, fresh fade, cityscapes
romantic thoughts again, texts on texts
what could be better than this, living the loveliest
warm nights, green lights, divine touch, just rough enough
just how I like

Let me fall
Deeply into the heart
Of the wanderer,
Under the dappled skin
Into the belly of the thing
Heavy and warm;
The hermit and the outcast
Is met in me
By the stomp of a hoof,
The shifting
Of weight
As he steadies himself;
I look down at my feet
Aware of toes and heels
Colliding with the ground.

lazy warm water
with fuzz patch green on large rock
young minnows swimming

feeling small is sacred
when my head rests against Your warm chest
and i can hear Your heartbeat slow
as You begin to fall asleep in my arms

feeling small is sacred
when i feel Your lips against my forehead
Your warm hands cradling my face
Your smile against my cheek

feeling small is sacred
when i see Your eyes, illuminated by the warm morning sun coming in through Your bedroom window
not only the brilliant colors
but the depth of the soul within as well

feeling small is sacred
when i hear my own name in Your mouth
it sounds worthy of the warm love with which You pronounced it
and i almost want to ask You to say it again
just so i can hear it

when one is cared for
when one is held
when one is loved
the way You have me
feeling small is sacred

twitchy sniffly noses
silky bracelets woven
a sennight of whispers
and soft rains fallen
bones strident ringing
skins slow submerging
bloodshot eyes and
star-shot skies and
cheekbones shrouded
in staling chlorine

sneaking syrup smiles
under honey gold
four tonics drowned
to fight off the cold
and fast fortune-telling
for finites foretold
trace the lines and
face the folds, please
hold both palms closer
but leave them closed

twitchy ditzy fingers
***** rings unspooled
a sennight of stories
and sinking in pools
bones washed in phenol
skins slick like ferrule
bloodshot minds and
star-shot why’s and
wisteria lips speckled in
the warmest shade of cool.

the ticking of a well-known clock is always in the background
as we draw breath from a planet designed to accommodate us.

sometimes, it lurks in the shadows
as we fill our hearts with love.
the present takes us by the hand,
so we stay with it joyfully.

other times, it bounces off the cold, white walls
until we cannot remember a day without it.
hope has flown away, so we wander through the past,
trying to find a way to put the noise to bed.

we find a moment that is soft to the touch -  
where the only sound we can hear is laughter.
we hold it to our chests to stay warm
as we close our eyes in surrender.

the ticking finally stops.