red marker mistakes
magnified–
to point
out
the
obvious
to
maker–
as
though
mess can be taken
back..
after it’s
over.
poetry
walking,
no..
strolling,
arms swinging-
not folded,
heart pounding
feet rollin’-
bones jerked
and joints
jolted.
tomorrow wakes
me before
i’m done with
now,
then sorrows
shake me..
for what today
would not
allow.
sucking on a
slice of
sun–
tryin’ not to sear
my tongue,
though the taste
is sweet,
i catch the
scent..
of burnt
meat.
stirring a
tea,
watching bubbles
mingle-
dreaming of dancing
with you..
as though it just
came true.
filling the
chair-
but not really
there..
are better places
to be,
like laid
out
by
placid
sea.
we meet beneath
sheets
to breathe
same air..
to reach same
heights..
to see each
other–
without
light.
butter drips from
tender fingers,
salty skin for
rolling in-
on picnic
sunday,
by the river,
lovers on a late
morn swim.
shake me like
a soda
can,
then aim and
open-
refreshing
sting,
oh the surprise
in their
eyes..
and a spritz
of lemon.
dandelion
yellow,
in sky’s the
eye
that never
blinks,
should be feeling
mellow-
yet all i do
is think
of more vivid ways
to capture
nature’s
cheer
in words that can’t
compare
to being
here.
hands in the garden 
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