My mother is a piano
A little out of tune
Dusty keys
That play with ease
Ivory as the moon

Sometimes I’ll touch the wood
And admire its antiquity
Think of all the things that it
Ever dreamed to be

Sometimes when my fingers
Fly through a song
I wonder how this piano
Ever got so strong.

My mother is a piano,
She makes music out of air,
She answers each finger
With an embrace, with care

Her legs planted firmly
in the ground
How much I love to hear
her deep, rich sound.

You think you’ve broken me down
that I’ll never stand again,
you think with hateful words
you’ve landed the big win.
So you think you know me…
I’m a pushover because I’m kind
don’t underestimate,
I actually have a powerful mind!
You don’t know the whole of it
and never, you truly will,
unlike you, I could never hurt another
out of hatefulness or thrill!
You are powerful with judgment
and you think you give a great show,
so go ahead, pick up that rock
give it a good hard throw!
But, remember this sweetheart
actually, it’s something you should know,
karma pays back in triple
YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW!
I’d tread a little more lightly
if I were YOU,
all that hatefulness you put out
well, eventually darlin,
that bills gonna come due!
~

✿

a bit of

in her hair I figured
all along the strands down to her bangs
I lingered along the lashes
became a vision
leaked down a cheek fell onto
her silky neck
became a molecule came into her
blood flowed down her heart
pumped me into her toes as they curled
traveled vascular
up her spine-tingling and came
smiling out the corner of her mouth
a wet spot
next to the corner of her smile
soft silky moist glistens
a mist on her breath
a bit of touch on the pillow
a dream on the next day's memory
a dream for forever

every touch a slow-moving pulse
sending shockwaves
through every point of touch
awaking every part of me
with his soft touch
his warm lips
our bodies move gracefully
insight
his brown eyes
lingering deep
touching the core of my soul
the warmth of his kisses
his fingers floating
like a paintbrush
leaving a burning trail
of ecstasy
and brilliant colored hues
each stroke caressing
each caress leaving
a beautiful new color of love
filling me with all of him
his heart
his soul
his being
all of his colors filling me
with his love

✿

Am I really a poet,
If all I ever write about,
Is you?

He's cold;
Biting at the fingers
Hunting for the exposed skin
Turning it to ash
Finding sin
Nipping under the coat
He's winter,
And I witnessed the downfall of
All of the floral pieces under the sun
Watched them bend and die brittle
Dried and limp with frost
On the tips of its vanity,
Those that would cure she and he -
Wow, she
Flying in a sky filled with hazy poppies
Trailing her kids along to
Jumping fences over heartache
Inside of a globe filled with pain.