what might we
have done,
were we to know
the now?
more dry
sweat
on
furrowed
brow?
where would we
have flown
with wings fully
grown..
and how?
shadow play
stippled ceilings-
prickly feelings in
the depths,
quickened
breaths,
headlights gloss
a window
pane-
sweat stains an
unmade
bed.
the loaded
mouth-
a heavy
head
above heart plump
with blind
regret,
the softest
tongue-
a mind
restrained,
heart calmed and
free to beat
again.
she waltzed into
my thoughts..
then took
a bow,
if only i had
the drive
to
dance
that i do
now.
a guilty moment
met with
shame
for last place
finish
in
game day
race,
but i did
show-
no need to
hide..
my face.
man in the
road
turns to ask if
i’ve seen
her-
if we passed
on the
way
out
of town,
i turn to the
man..
and point down
the pathway
to a phantom in
blue bridal
gown.
cracking and
mending
from
breaking,
not bending
bones grinding then
stiffening,
from
too much damn
flexing.
pretenders-
bad actors on
a stage,
spectators not
fooled..
waiting patiently
for plot
they can sink their
teeth into.
colors of the
soul-
many brushstrokes
lack control,
wild blending of
bright paint,
won’t render artist
faint,
all colors of the
soul-
applied with loose
restraint.
laying face to
face–
in claims of same
tight space,
were we to watch
each other’s
dreams.
would we blush
or scream?
might we be underwhelmed
by what we
see?
hands in the garden 
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