Hesitant Dawn

Lentils in tow
floating slow
river, rendered
pardoned by snow.

Essence encumbered
etches, grows.
Breath sequestered;
bottled clothes.

Barren bedside,
ripple of light.
Polyester penance,
dream–
dewed sight.

Advertisements

Golden Cold Front

Tripping over shallow pores,
my eyes find no purchase
in their attempt to digest
every aspect of your face

Freckles of flame, resting
atop lakes of gold
like sun borne lily pads.

With a final leap, the eyes breach
your cheekbone horizon
only to freeze
at the glacial tides
pouring forth, forward
"you may leave now."

Chipping away
at the frost in my joints,
I do as told
too cold to wonder
how such separate states
live just a nose bridge away.

Comprehension escapes
all but Aphrodite herself.

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?”