My fingers trace
your contours
in my thoughts.
The highs and lows,
your inclines
rise and fall.
Spaces in between
grow distant
from ridge and valley
to coastal plain.

Through uncharted territory
I follow the beaten path
till trail turns to sand
and desert meets ocean.

Contours fade
and wash away.
You slide into
the deep blue
and cross the border.

r ~ 7/5/14

Our daughter asks for the umpteenth time when you will be home.
I just smile and say "not long now" whist staring at a docile phone.
This is only the forth time in six months that you have gone missing with no trace.
The first time you fell asleep in a strip bar
"On a work do" you amazing disgrace!
The second time you fell asleep at a party, the third you did the same.
Top marks for invented excuses, invention,  has never been your game.
So now, I sit here waiting, with our daughter and this phone.
Telling her not to worry and that her mummy will soon be home.

He unzipped her mind and loved every word unbuttoned in between. The characteristics of him are the definition of her. He unwrapped her dark fragile soul slowly with love then all at once. As he began to colour her hardened heart that was of different shades of black and grey into red . He painted her wilted rose petals with colours that she thought didn't exist . She was his canavas he was her artist who held magical colours in his hands . He treated her like fine art in return she cradled his heart .

In the folds of the hills
and hollows
of my mind,
I remember a time
when you were free.
You were of the sweetest color
known to me.

No man could catch you;
I'm not even sure we tried.
It was such a sight
just to watch you
spread your wings.

Like a bird
you could fly
circles so high,
blue as the sky,
and free as the wind.

I knew someday
you would leave,
fly away,
no longer free;
my mountain bird
on a breeze.

r ~ 6/30/14