-


from between feathered clouds
of the east through branches of
misguided deeds waving crooked
shadows into the window–

and then

penetrating the skin-tight sheet
that wraps around a throbbing
head into a pair of thin
quivering optical blinds—

the rays of Sunday Morning now
blisters a soul in preparation
for a forgiveness—

from Saturday night...



s jones
2022



.

He picks at the fray of her gaze
‘til she frowns. Sews shut her mouth

with too many questions.

We grow roots.

Sun shines hot through a tall window, and
she curls to me like vine.

We wind together, sway ‘til her small hands
whisper at the nape of my neck -

Finished, done.

it's interesting, the colors the rain chooses to paint with.
evergreen and mulch brown.
bursts of white and grey.
black boots, black polish.
a winding staircase lined by glossy red bricks.
it transports me back to when
silk gowns and dusty books sat on shelves too.
i just don't think my heart is in it.

i'm sitting on a purple bus, swaying back and forth and
didn't my mother used to rock me to sleep like this?
i'm going back to a dorm room with a twin-sized bed and,
at the age of five, wasn't my bed this small?
because you see, things change but not really.
the parts of our past just fall into different molds
and take on new purposes.
they run underneath every aspect of our lives,
containing bones and bruises and memories,
like catacombs resting in our corpus callosum.
you'll recognize the feeling like
it's from a different lifetime, a different reality.
but it's yours, it always has been.

I've been waiting for you
My entire existence.
If that means I have to wait
A bit more to be in your arms,
So be it.
Because you are so worth
Every minute if it means
The rest of eternity.