#mrg
While you sleep I trace the tender
green stalk of your wrist.
Over the upturned Earth of your palm
and along each curled stem of your fingers
tipped with marigold. Warm rainwater
pools between our two hands pressed together
like wet leaves. The frown lines etched
into your forehead remind me of tree rings
or keys of a wheezing accordion –
smoothing then wrinkling again.
Its song whistling through your nose on
lazy morning-breaths. Whispering
in and out of the thousand golden Aspen leaves
quaking from my untrimmed chest.
Your blooming into my life marked the end
of the longest drought season.
I smell the dust settling. Hope taking
root beneath the arid soil.
Love’s monsoon moving in over the horizon,
heavy with a blessing rain.
– mrg
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 12:50 PM UTC
When you've got the blues
You play the blues
To get rid of the blues
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC