Within the Bloom of Your Cheeks

Winter is like a brushstroke of white,
against powder canvas, seeming clean
yet unclean.

Truth, a finger dancing down,
your throat, poised, waiting to breathe in
my tongue, dry, catching flame.

Washed, dyed red and grey, like
Tartan, inlaid into your bone’s curvature
wanting more, needing warmth.

Eyes sink into black casings like shells,
cast off from shots, burst against my
skin, my own cheeks, flushed.


In Between Nothing and Us

Racing across the dunes of our past,
sinking, our feet slip in-between the tan waves

Time, relevant to no one
Nothingness, light, dark are eternal

Minds scavenge for gold dust, like small stars
that glitter, hidden beneath our feet

We want to find, a twinkling neon splattered vortex,
figures of beauty, cloudless nights

you scamper, scatter and spread the gulls
they fly, temporarily closing off the sky, cloud

I turn, face blown across the stretch,
features lost in the twists of dying color

Soulless, covering your face
closing off features, memories, heart

Fall back, into strobes, reflecting millions of glints
back at the sun, moments of before

And your eyes, they dance ahead of me,
lost in the oncoming, flashing rain of tomorrow.


Clocks and Mirrors

I long to feel the warmth,
Against my tired skin.
The feel of softened leather,
In my dry and broken hands.

I’m hungry for the smell of roses,
For the taste of sweetened plums.
I want to feel the breeze again,
I long to hear the ocean’s hum.

Life is like a pinwheel,
It catches and never stops.
Whirling like a sun disk,
On a universal clock.

And we are all just numbers,
Waiting like ducks in a line.
For some sort of miracle,
The dawning sun to shine.

And ever after is like a mirror,
Dipped into a glaze.
Just when you finally catch it,
It slips and breaks away.