butterflies tango

The butterflies in my tummy have flourished. 

They are in my heart,

dancing a fine twirling argentine tango 

(complicated with extra pairs of legs). 

They are sliding about my veins,

like over-joyed kids 

in a waterpark 

drunk on the hot pulse 

of a summer day. 

They are in my mind. . . 

I am a butterfly, 

affectionately brushing your petals 

with my fine wiry antennae, 

clinging to your silken petals. 

In the leisurely sun 

of a perfect day, 

or in the slick rain of life's obstacles, 

I shield you with my little wings, 

and drink in your fragrance 

with great pleasure. . . 

always.

A Kiwi in a Forest of Legs

What does our world looks like from the outside? 

Is it a tiny drop of rain, 

shining bright as a gem, 

sitting atop a fresh blade of grass? I

s it a vibrant, dancing star, 

guiding any others 

who should peek its distant light? 

Perhaps it is an elusive, 

puffball of a kiwi bird, 

darting between the forests of legs 

on a busy New York sidewalk. 

A passing stranger might wonder 

at something so curious 

and out of place. 

However, 

before they can fumble for their phones 

and capture it for karma, 

before they can google 

whether the kiwi bird 

is known to live in major north american cities, 

before they check their newspapers 

for reports of escaped kiwi's, 

we'll have drifted out of sight, 

leaving them wondering, 

and perhaps 

with a little smile on their face.

Stars, Whales and Goldfish

Waking up together, 

bright as red goldfish 

swimming through the air 

above your bed. 

Perhaps they'd gather 

to gawk 

and make their fishy faces 

at the green tara.

I want to climb old lighthouses with you. 

We could reignite the flame with a kiss. 

The ponderously spinning light 

serves to guide a great whale, 

safely into harbor. 

The whale would open its massive maw, 

and a circus would roll 

safely, off his tongue.

I want to kiss every mole on your body,

in the gently waving tall grass. 

I will make love to you 

beneath a blanket of falling stars. 

They would slow to land all around us, 

to make our own Austin-night 

strings of christmas lights,

 as we giggle 

giddily, into each other's smiles

Architectural Satisfaction

my affection . . . 

It is like a leafy vine on a building wall. 

Growing up thick and lush about her foundations, 

climbing persistently up her bare 

expanses of smooth walls, 

beautifully framing windows 

in leaf and tendril and wrapping 

snuggling around her perfect balconies 

(lest they should run away). 

She glows with architectural satisfaction, 

stands obviously apart from the rows 

of plain faced buildings that surround.

Simply enraptured in the attentions of nature. 

As the warm days of spring stretch before us, 

they bloom. . .

Each little blossom a word of love. 

Every breeze looses a teasing, fragrant melody. 

And soon, wood and stone, vine and structure are one; 

neither the same, without the other.