Monday, September 21, 2015

night

sensation sometimes disguises itself as sophomoric sentimentality
candy-apple brightness hurls along causing the hairs to stand
up
on your forearm
to the distant sound of crickets and cellos and bees
what is authentic movement?
the downward dog of you
glass crusted
crackled with the dust of unknown origins
reach beyond the tactile first responder
reach marrow deep to scrap the soul fibers of Jupiter
from your tongue
oh petty benign graze of presence ....
sooth the night wrinkles
draw a warm bath
and
sing to me
of
waxwings & marigolds

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