woke to silver
light on
walls
in a bout of
restless
legs,
shapes rise and fade
as cars escape
from their own
sleepless
fates.
spiritual evolution
the brush of
clouds
above this
house,
a ring of birds, fresh
from the
south,
an oak that full well
knows its
age
in sun that hides
but never
fades.
i’m the bearded
vixen
with a heart
of molten vanilla,
and i weep
in lipstick shades
down the mirror
every time
we play.
if love was the
flame,
we caught it
in our
teeth
to pass between
our lips
‘til first hint of
breeze
showed us it was
a tease.
sailing ships with
my eyes,
toes firm upon
land,
birds circling
until dizzy,
braced in sudden
a breeze,
summer rests its hand
upon my shoulder
to remind me
i’m seen
and stained into
the scenery.
is it drowning to
take in too
much
of a taste like
elation?
bliss
become
suffocation.
may i be that thing
again?
the one with
a use
that fit in the
hand
of a warm blooded
man at play.
’twas upon crooked
hill
that our house
leaned
as though to watch
us leave
for flusher
scenery,
as cracks turn
break
and paint becomes
flakes
may we never
glance
back
at its sorry
old state.
settling into
strange bathwater
i swallow soap
bubbles to
float
but drift to the
ocean floor
as though i’d
died here
before.
i turn my
head
to alter my
view
and notice you
turning
too.
hands in the garden 
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