cold
weather, early mornings, cloudy skies; to insist on warmth, with pride in soul,
despite, such cold weather.
by
ruse or comfort. by earth or stars. one might sell a pile of beans.
sight
unseen, knowing it does exist, made of invisibility, wine, water, somewhat dim,
sultry, decorated.
adoring
is improper, such contradiction, maybe meet another at its space—dark chimes,
sweet nectar, peaches on a Sunday morning.
meta-
design. meta-comforts. meta-men and women.
it
isn’t easy to love, despite, physicality, this becomes why we love—into rawness,
maybe misidentified, so gentle in marriage.
nemesias
are growing, zinnias are probing, weeds have been left to rot.
most
gorgeous blessing, most radiant jewel, one tiptoes on broken glass.
to
love is enormous—one dream into a vision, to live like excellence, so tender a
morning kiss. to shift lives, like phantoms invade minds, such tangibility in
observation. to want life, sealed in a gift, performing until it hurts. so
close, so warm, it might get cold.
close
enough to read clotheslines, such loitering linen, so much comfort when it
aches.
