It’s almost time for a confessional. Let’s bathe our feet while we dance
Sediment wash.
Baptism in the chemical sand
Trekking through the barriers that barely stand
In touch with invariance.
Writing love letters.
Barely legible; sun setters
Cantaloupe sky. Dusk settles.
What’s warm love in November?
It’s cranberry cheeks.
Your tongue tingling. Teeth
Surrendering ourselves to eruption. Lungs blistering. Freeze
I’ve talked to God on occasion.
Mentioned Mary and Seph’
Carried a mountain on my shoulders through a valley of death
I’ve longed for delay.
Had a walk through Nirvana
Hoisted a banner reading ‘I want to be craved’
We just want to be loved.
We just want to partake.
On a trotting that doesn’t involve being numb
Noticed your aura carrying breath of life to grave diggers
Make their shovels change to pens like shape shifters
Paint pictures. Plant seeds that proceed to outwait winter
Gasp. Breathe. Then watch spring make way
That was a metaphor for how fruitful you are When I think of kissing you, my Fitbit thinks I’m working out And when I talked to you
My Fitbit said my heart rate slowed down That’s just testament to how you slow time down
And it works out.
Want to spend time with.
Let’s cascade, the sky, rip.
Over to Your face visage.
That’s engraved under eyelids
To my future lover.
I’ll consume you like no other
Keep you fluttered. Keep you covered.
With an influx of these crimson colored kisses
Mission: smother. Mission: touch her… Heart, create a spark that dwells deep within ventricle walls.
Imagining ember blaze, rinsed with a dab of my tender gaze
Create mendable art.
Candlelit wicking flame
Absolutely delicate. Trapping in shadow
Everything’s past tense.
Everything matters
Speaking weakly under covers. Cheeks in blush
Proceed to hush the noise. Drown the sound. Unsheathe the void
Asleep we touch. Wake up.
Innocent eyes. Glistening. Tithe.
As morning UV bathes our skin with its dye Remember this line;
we could drift forever without an anchor
Pigment alignment.
So fluid. Our loose lips could sink battle tankers.
Finger paint on each other within our silence