Dizzy,
I run my fingers through your hair,
thinking that
you press
further through me
with every stroke.
I think
I am playing with your hair,
but it is me,
me,
who is being played with.
Tag: passion
Writing Cursive
As an ink pen,
you express yourself
in graceful, flowing strokes,
and I, your parchment,
would let you practice
your cursive
until you mastered
every letter.
(And, between letters,
I lament
that the alphabet
has only 26.)
Firestone Friday: Poem XIII
I can tell
by my heartbeat
that there’s
something in you
that makes my body
to slam
against its very walls.
Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XIII
Thrown by your howling wind
and soaked in your tempest rain,
I reach for you,
wondering how you put
this thunder
in my ears.
Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XI
She’s a brilliant moon
and, oh,
how I long for the night.
Touchstone Tuesday: Poem VII
Like an
enchanting poem,
I will go over you
again and again
until I’ve memorized
even
the
spaces.
On Fire
As I think about you,
it takes
less and less oil
to light myself
on fire.
Firestone Friday: Poem X
Literature and love
perform much the same:
a flowery dressing,
a crafted seduction,
and an uncovering
that makes the reader
to quiver.
On Inebriation
They ask
if I’ve ever been
black out drunk,
and I can’t help
but to rememeber
how intoxicated
I was
when I first saw you.
Faith, Health, and Other Musings 