I want
your lips
to melt
my skin —
so we may
one body
and our
to blend



Your surface reflects
one that admires you most

like a small china teacup.

I delicately press my lips to your skin
warm full of the memories we brewed


I treasure you in my hands
because you’re too delicate

to fall apart on the tile

though I will always

be here

to put your pieces


September 22nd

I stood on the porch and used my mug full
of coffee to warm my hands against the cool

morning autumn breeze that flirted with
my skin — both frigid and a tease — seeing

as it was a relief to the staring sun,
but so brisk the goose bumps began to invade.

I moved over to the bedroom and gazed
at the closet that had clothes oozing under-

neath the door, and the dresser drawers
dusty and damaged with items forgotten years

ago. I peered into the mirror as I saw
your eyes looking right back at me, I inhaled

another sip of the warm concoction, hoping
that it would soothe me as I dragged out some

cardboard boxes and packed up what was
once our home, then yours, and now no one’s.

The tears blended in with the carpet as
I sat on the floor amidst all that was you.

With My Own Two Feet

Forget walking on water, I coast
cloud to cloud ’cause I’m chasing
my dreams knocking on the door
of the man in the moon but nobody
is home so I create my own stars
since I’m bursting at the seams

because the fantasy isn’t going
to write itself; my pen is ready
in hand everything is permanent —
no erasing, no do overs
the past is done.

I don’t touch the ground
because gravity no longer holds
me down I’m too busy painting
the skies, decorating my destiny
concocting clouds with my own
two feet

Outside Looking In

In a corner among the fir bristles a stream
of hanging bells beamed as speckled sparkles

delicate prisms of red, green, and gold
a majestic jungle – a wild, tangible world

only a fingertip’s distance away.

I placed my hand on the window as if I might absorb
the contagious sweetness as a plant with roots so

desperate they tangle one another.

Artificial Love

Dazed sugar eagerly dusts a raindrop
desires to make snow – a delicate
calculated little concoction of crystals –
and call it family. Though it’s swallowed
dissolved, dispersed, and diluted
through the water, unsure of what
it once was. Still, it leaves
a sweet taste on the tongue.