Glide

Prepping the liquid embezzlement

entranced by the journey

of air to sand to stone.

The lakes of you, feeling a presence,

making it a point

to break apart my favorite boulder.

 

An oasis only exists

for those in need of sustenance.

Otherwise,

you stand empty

surrounded by empty

a droplet sharing no notable meaning

beyond, “continue”.

 

Billowing,

some nights

I glide.

 

I think I’m in the middle of one of those nights.

 

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Resistant Chill

Stinking summer breeze,

Leave this realm!
I cannot abide by the casual slaughter
of friendly nasal cavities
and cozy blankets.

The fortitude of winter
is never enough.
Burning through the
blue glaze of peace
shouting at us all to
sprout anew, live again as if
light actually exists.

Damn heartthrob in the sky
pulsating your matriarchal heat
across all landscapes
allowing your sister
to watch us while you
stun the rest into painful,
aching life.

Leave us be, to our cold reverie.
Drift to a collection of sentient stardust
more deserving of your heat.

Sweet, lost mother,
your unconditional presence
your unblinking gaze of a love so pure
our eyes sour
from looking for too long.

Etched into my shoulders
are your fingerprints.
Connecting them resembles
the families of faraway stars
who laugh at your cause
who tear up
knowing your mission is never done.

Soul of summer
breaking apart the destitute ice
trailing from wrist to chest–

Fine!

The red resin of existence
will be free to roam within me.

I owe you that much.

Lazuli

Okay I have 6 minutes to write a poem

I’ve been drinking

and truth be told I’m not entirely done.

Unfortunately, 

your distance makes me feel warmer 

as if the way you reciprocate

every other moon

brings more brightness

to the skies claimed 

under your name.

The way you bury yourself

rather than leave me to appreciate

the nuance of air

renders all wandersome thoughts

shovels, built into my wrists

the pulse of me

calling to your subsurface 

frequency.

Erupt

that I might again

say, “hello,

how is your morning 

and, beyond carving

lapis out of clouds,

how might I better

the stride of your soaring?”

Sunberry Touch

Embers fall from your eyes

as you blink away the shy flames

of our centered gaze.

 

Base intentions rise

quelled only by inner fountains

set to sprinkle on Saturday–

noon time, splintered sun tans,

tentative rays.

 

Campfire veins fail to cool

even as summers come to close.

Ample airings of argent hues

clenched, bark worn toes.

 

Speak with lips softened

by separate encounters

each time,

a step closer

to our shared heat.

 

Dancing tongues only know

so many steps.

We grew feet for a reason.

 

Remember the first time

the sun claimed your flesh as its own?

I fear the same of our first touch.

 

Burn me, afternoon lover

with the sunberry juice

of your blue sky brush.