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.
shadow play
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?
given surplus
time–
i swear i’d waste
it not
on same games
that got me
caught.
carried on a
breeze’s
trace-
is hollow ache i can’t
quite place,
though known well
by its acrid
taste
i breathe it into
cracks on
face.
hands in the garden 
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