.
If I were a word to bend your lips
curious, tumbled dimples hiding
beyond pale of a flushed cheek-
I'd choose wonderment,
even on my bitchy days-
stones with moss-covered iris
until dawn's light turns edges crispy
there is laughter
not restrained, controlled laughter,
but genuine
silence of trees bellow
lowly croaks of frogs
bump against a spongy moon. . .
after all, it's just the moon,
funny how words return
when talking isn't needed
fat, pearly tears pop up
just thinking about it
and stamps cost less than a cup of coffee
correspondence is fragrantly poignant
but doesn't say very much.
You said I-love-yous made you fly,
but what does that mean really?
I wanted to be that promise
could've been a glimmer across
choppy waters
after so much ocean;
salty,
hollow,
echoes nothing save isolation,
a-sway in a flimsy boat
further out than necessary
and sharks circle, because
that's what they do when there's bait
tied to your neck.
If this were our saga
I'd want us to be gods/goddesses
transcendant tales told with sinister enemies
vulnerable virgins,
the beastly intent of humanity;
the un-pretty consequence of carnal behaviour.
We'll establish an oracle
-repeated for centuries
with tender bits to include love
and lust,
passion,
betrayal,
(all too human)- human folly.
settle crowns of dime-store flowers,
spun lightly
in your dirty-blond hair..
call ourselves lovers, once.
Adding your comment:
This is one of the finest pieces I've read from your pen. 
