Friday, November 1, 2019







—TRAVELED BACK IN TIME, NOW I’M LIVING IN A VORTEX


This Morning

This morning
I wanted nothing
more than to stay in bed,
draw myna birds across
your washboard back,
smell your salty neck,
hear the circus
clanging in your hair,
and wish for more hours. 
I wanted to breathe
on each blemish
of your sun-starved skin,
watch them bloom and Samba
across the sheets,
somersault and confess
Two Truths and a Lie. 
I miss those warm-tunnel promises,
oozing sticky and certain
through me like perpetuity.
Oh, all the things
we could have done then
with a simple and honest kiss—
unspool riddles,
make love,
make babies,
cure cancer.
But buried in blankets
I became brick,
unable to move,
picturing it,
you so near and lovely,
your sleepy eyes opening
every groove in me.
So, I thought about it,
and thought about it some more,
until it was time to
get up and finally
tell the vapid air
what I’d always wanted
to say to you--
Good morning, Love.
Can you hear me?
Are you even there?

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