There is something to be said
Cold blue ice
The breath of winter
But it’s sunshine
We all seek
You can love the darkness
Sing to the moon
It’s sunshine that warms us
Of burning madness
The warming of rocks
Beside the cold pine lined water
The sun shines.
Bare beyond belief
upon the sand
under the stand of the lifeguard
they sat on an empty landscape
with the breeze blowing
tender to the touch
raw emotions rolled with the waves
The sunlight washing winter away.
If you were born in the dark ages
and I saw first light today
we would still be friends
would separate us
I could call
and you would be there
“how you doing dick face”
loyal like brothers
willing to bury something in the backyard
nothing could separate us
not dirty deeds
rising with greed
not being born in another time
we would be friends no matter what
you could take a baseball bat to that.
Within your grip
the moon the tides
Can not change it
I will struggle
Strain at the hips
Drive my teeth
Through my jaw
before I lose you
There isn’t a force on earth greater than you
Not a pocket of air
More comfortable to be with in
Of what I am
I have no Idea who you call at night. I never asked for your cell number. Its those wild blues. The grey blue, its that laugh. I sat there with a smoke in my mouth. A thousand drags, a thousand draws on life looking at your freckles. I wondered how you looked before the sun came before you were kissed with so much beauty.
I woke like any other morning and looked around me, I looked at the sun through the window, unsure of how late it really was but when I turned I saw your back and each drop of light that ever touched you. I looked over you like a field. How long would it take to get across you? Each freckle a blade of grass. I wondered when first light had touched your back. I was sucked in. The scent of your hair made me breathe deeper. A thousand freckles unsure of where to begin.
The next time I hooked my finger on your jeans, the tip touching your hip bone. Like citrus you said to me and I thought of lemons. I was sure I smelled and tasted of the earth. I was sure I was low tide. But you said no you taste like citrus.
Cookies and giggles we laugh within our eyes. Your sneakers scuffing my shoes. I can still feel your hip bones and the way your breath was drawn as we touched cotton to cotton.
How you said we had gone to far. I agreed and you slept better. You slept better than you had so many nights before. But I lingered in the late night waiting on the chirps of birds because I could not contain myself. Wondering why I wanted to write love letter again when I never even asked for your number.
Walt looked over everything in the shop.
Nothing but trash, he thought. Who would pay for someone else’s junk?
All the whites were stained-over yellow, dust was several inches thick.
Place looked better from the street.
“Can I help you with something?” the owner asked.
“Help me? ‘Cause I have a cane I need help?” Walt barked.
“No, sir. It’s just what I ask customers in my store.”
“Sonny, if I need help, I wouldn’t ask you.”
The owner lit up a cigarette.
“You can’t smoke in here!” Walt shouted.
“Read the sign, old man. It says second hand.”
There was a pungent not quite socially acceptable smell in the air
under the darkness of the end of the work week.
Down the corridor of the cul-de-sac
thick green smoke swirled.
into the windowsill.
Under the shade of a wrinkling summer umbrella
as useless as a caboose
Peering at the neighbor for judgmental reactions.
The train wreck
behind bright lighted out windows
yelled out with scorn
your wind is coming my way.