Archive | September, 2017

Quizzing Glass

24 Sep

Her eyes said to the professor,
Why don’t you stop studying me and
be with me.
And then she was grateful
to have become so very
alive,
not something buried then
unearthed,
a curiosity for
cataloguing.
But like a live oak,
limbs and leaves flush with green,
hung with soft sighing hair,
he was just unable to see
beyond the glass
in his own.

Texts Not Sent #57

18 Sep

 

Begins so casually.
Is there a Biscuitville where you are?
she starts to type.

And do you like
egg, cheese, and tomato buttered biscuit
Sunday midmornings
after coffee, after pajamas, after loving,
curving together half a dream in soft
tangles of limbs and lips,
after the first waterblue moment of quiet room,
noticing that three inches
from the bareness of
the back
of your neck
there is heat and beating heart under
the vulnerability of skin and vein
alive with the sound of oceanbreath…

Her thumb above the arrow.
And memory quietly said,
not to.

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