It Burns

(written in light of the Ferguson riots)

It is 2am, and the world is on fire

The heart takes a breath

as the mind can only hold it

I lay exhausted, saying nothing

what is there for these

but their anger, their hunger

a season of burning colors

smoldering over a dead child

I miss you my darling

my heart yearns to breathe

and my mind is exhausted

i want to hold you and say nothing

Wolves Going to Picnic

I woke, and resisted the urge 

to really turn over to face the empty plains of our bed. 

Instead I imagined turning over. . 

to see the edges of your lashes, 

sweeping down towards your cheek, 

like foothills to a snowy plain.

A pack of silver wolves racing by,

padding softly through the snow.

They are wearing pointed hats,

and silk grey jackets:

they are going to picnic,

they are going to tea.

It is then, that my fingers brush your cheek,

sending the little wolves tumbling

with the soft clatter of tea cups

little white saucers, spinning.

A bit of spilt oolong 

(for that is what wolves drink)

soft and warm as my whispered

"good morning my love"

Hilarity Followed

I think perhaps it was the brisk weather last night. 

I dreamt of standing in front of Bronwyn, 

nervously waiting to meet the beautiful woman 

who also wanted to meet me!

Your playful eyes were sunlight and blue sky

draped with lamplight bangs

wrapped in the cool autumn air

I remember finally getting to kiss you

tenderly at first,

then quickly with wild wanting

We were famine and our lips the feast

The sweet devouring of our tongues

All the world fell away

as I got to kiss you the way I always meant to

and the hilarity that followed