Wishes

I wish I could tangle my fingers
in the wind,
like you tangle yours
in my hair
on long nights.

I wish I could collect stars
like fireflies
in jars with holes in the tops
for a nightlight
glowing dimly in the dark.

I wish for your fingers to slide
over my skin
like the blanket's soft edge
as I pull the covers up
over my shoulders.

I wish my words could fly
like butterflies
gentle and sweet over the land
to sit softly in your heart
so you always know what you mean to me.

Lips

I miss your lips

quirked into a smile 

as I watch them pour your passions

into the air

with my head on your chest

I miss your lips

pressed together

as you look at me

vibrating as you ask

“hmm?”

I miss your lips

slightly parted

as you breathe easy

while you sleep

just before I wake you up.

I miss your lips

against my skin

as you kiss away

all the things

that cloud my thoughts.

I miss your lips

pressed against mine

stealing, surprising, 

or totally planned

and always just for my lips

I miss your lips

how they understand

when I need them

before I even do.

And how they save me

with every touch. 

On saying "I love you"

How often

must the words leave my lips

like

the end of gentle kisses, 

for

them to lose their meaning

to repetition?

I'm drowning in oil
the dark, slick stuff
clings to my naked body.

Where I was once
clean and happy
I now cannot wipe it off.

As much as I try to,
my hands pass over oil
and fail to clear my skin.

Against Nature

Plants meant to grow up

grow underground.

Destroying the land as they do,

protesting

their handling. 

The land is always

daily

torn asunder,

broken open,

rubbed raw,

to preserve the

smooth,

soft,

ground

for the sun’s gaze. 

I am trapped it's hard to breathe.
It's different than before,
I'm not falling backwards
into this big smoke floor.

I'm not in some glass box,
where people watch and see
me lowered into water
dark ink washing over me.

Instead I'm in a pit,
being buried alive
no matter how I move,
I know I won't survive.

Oh sure I'll live, I'll carry on
but without some respite
I fear I'll empty out
and lose all my light.

In some dark place I fear
in this prison underground,
I'll just be walking circles
going round and round.

Secrets

When the sun isn't looking,
it rains.
Water breaks through
the cracks in the sky
when there is no attention
settled on it.
When the sun looks back
at it's bright, blue companion,
it does not see
the splits in the seams
or the slightly sagged pieces
   - The ones that have held onto water
   - and are now stretched out of place
and smiles
at the worn picture before it.

What will happen when it storms?

5.10.2013