We

falter

         at  the stem

never

the root

Only poetry,

I shape a verse
into your palm

All I have, to
keep you warm. 

Leave me

among the leaves,


These clouds,

they promise rain


I shall be wet

here,

         again

These words

How, with just one verse,


I become

the author of your

disgrace

and you,

the poet of my

despair

These words!

How long will we let them

circle our drains?

Reading

All this poetry, enters me in the same place, at the same time.

They spear me with a familiarity so dismissive,

I fall to my knees before they can exit. 

Wanting:

how bold 
like a star

Press me into

your hair 

where I may 

shoot 

with

the rest. 

The River- Day 20

Some times when our eyes meet and hold
I allow myself the fantasy:

you are as struck
                             by me as I am by you. 

"It's so cold! I want to stick my hand into fire"

I rashly said to my roommate.

And then I promptly did just that. (as an accident of course). I nursed my burn through the night, my fingers throbbing red. All the while, I thought of you and the burn close to my heart and that if I could taste you just once, for a while, I wouldn't mind if you burnt me right through.