Stone and Storm

It doesn’t ever start so easily as a storm

all thunder and bristle

“I am here, and I will be here.”

A stone is a stone, just as it is.

I’m sure there was a time

when the stone felt fear as well.

Here I exist

complicated, uncertain, beautiful.

I am enough, just as I am.

I can do what is needed, just as I am.

I am here; I will be here.

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After School Storm

Elliot walked along the river of full bloom flowers, pulling his bookbag tightly against his shoulders. He smelled the air, wondering when the breeze had become so filled with nostalgia. He figured there must be a storm on the horizon, promising sweet evenings trapped inside with nothing better to do than watch water war with windowsill.

He didn’t so much rush home, as he did travel the exact pace necessary to appease fate. Whatever is, is. Whatever will be, will be. These two thoughts cascaded outward from his left foot and his right, respectively, as they fell upon the sidewalk.

Fox With a Name

And so the red bird sighs, swimming downward through branches who have only just begun to lose their blooms. Petals tumbling as feathers fall; rain with no rain.

Harold felt the sweet chill of spring’s end as he sat among the blue rocks, hoping to taste the weather of the next day. The night held many secrets, and did not easily give up the greatest of them all.

What follows darkness is never so gray.

Sails

We could feel

the crumbling edges of time

begging for full demise

gripping steadfast

unable to reply.

 

My bones speak to me

simply because I listen.

 

They sell small tales

of growing up, up, up

from valleys vast

breaching cliff

smelling rose.

 

Sails, cast aloft

sails, weighing heavy

sails, catching song

fueling foray

whispering

the ocean’s middle name.

Summit Rose(a Rewrite)

Bring me back
to your blue sheets.
Teach me red.

Your collarbone is a roadmap
upon which my fingers could
scout out every landmark
sending the coordinates
to my mouth.

Create a single night
with me.
Let us both collide
maybe
the stillness of your feet
will fall away
at the whispers underneath
your neck.

I
can sing to you
with nothing but my tongue
inciting
harmony
deep within
your stomach
notes strolling casually
up through the throat
greeting your hot breath
as you decide
to allow the refrain
a taste of its own
chorus.

First of course
those legs of yours.
One hand remains free and
bought tickets
to your knee.
Those fingers have been dying to hike
the snow covered summits
leading below
the single rose
where symphonies are strung along
by tongue as well as tone.

Your hips are
begging to be
jailed by palms and tips
as crescent locks and keys.
Suddenly there
isn’t air
it’s pressed from you
the petalcrest blooms
filled
with a new warmth
refreshing like sunlight
rigid as river stone.

Dear,

walk me to your window.
The breeze will cool
the sunset pools
fit to simmer
beneath the tresses
of heavy lashes
as starlit sighs grow dimmer.

Ember eyes,
burn me away
so I might live again
to douse you
with the songs
of “stay”.