Across the Country

Press the mud
Beneath your fondling fingers.
Push the brush across
To trail a maze,
Moonlight above
The sudden city.

Poetry,
It breathes without the blood.
It cannot 
Set this scene,

Her hair in tides against your shoulder
Or between the window and you.
When luck's in love,
Her face now facing you,
Her smiles always noncommittal 

But occasionally,
Something slips
From narrow eyes
And you're aware
You're sharing a secret
Like a holy hot
Croissant in winter transit shelters.

Inside the bus
Within the gentle metal growl,
Beside the greying pastures
Letting loose their solid lines,
She smells of pastries
Glazed.
Her heat,
The blanket heart of everything.

- 5/27/26

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dancing, Shifting

The fully flooded moonsky Is lighting glowing black-grey. Underneath the mustard sun, The dreams are melting. I smile, far more honest than my usual, Interpreting her private language Of dancing hands and shifting shoulders. My stomach blazes. Smoke intoxicates attempts at thinking. There are days I know she knows And days I doubt she's ever noticed. Mercy narrowed thin her eyes. We'd never survive them otherwise. A setting sun is bleeding out. I settle hoping for another dream, A fantasy wherein she sees. - 5/22/26
Read more

Alone at the Museum

I explored exhibits Tracing history And present geological conditions. I realized My mind was roaming, Conjuring reactions, Thoughts,  Remarks from you All while the warmest wash Cascaded down my bones And something stirred Disturbing, comforting So deep inside my stomach. Friends are more important Than another lover. So I tell myself, But when you're close I nearly touch your skin Instinctively. I healed so greatly From my former romantic disaster. When will I Allow myself to fall again, Or has your gravity Already taken me? - 12/8/25
Read more

Entanglement

You can cobble rocks together, Hide beneath the rusty rain, Or wait until the days are hotter Than the fate we await. You're still not far enough. Two quanta matched Are dead locked, Tightly coupled, Even in another building, Even thrown across the universe. Laredo is a sleepy city. They celebrate George Washington For an entire fucking month, For thirty never-ending cursed nights. They even dedicated a museum To water. The years are dying off. The bed is growing. - 5/15/26
Read more