tomorrow in
a bottle,
today’s washed
up on shore
to escape cold city’s
confines
on a quest for
so much
more.
poetry
harmful were
desires
born from within a
lonely place,
and acrid was
the taste
of desperation
we perspired.
all this hoping
without
moving
is like waiting out
the winter
with a grudge
draped over my shoulder,
believing it will
remedy
my distaste
for cold.
is this naked me
before
you
the soul you
wish to
see
or shall you ask
me not so
gently
to cover up
and flee?
as day creeps
to a close,
father time sheds
his skin
to reveal all
along
a slave to him
i have been.
it wasn’t the storm
behind your
eyes
but
the calm
that
disarmed,
keeping ships
from harm.
it was in feeling
your skin
brush
mine
i knew we were cut
from the same
cloth
sewn up in
different patterns,
to be admired in
youthful
wonder.
speak to
me
of tender times
in spell that
has no
end
and forsake the hex
of shadows
upon dear wary
friends.
trickling of a
raindrop
down the courtyard
wall
leaves a trail
so slick
it reminds us we
still linger
here,
our forms still
pressed to
brick.
i mixed
messages
till none were lucid
enough to
read
for a mind that never
memorized
the language
of being.
hands in the garden 
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