The Round Sweetness of Pine

I want to breathe you, the sweet air of mornings here,

A light cashmere mist, heavy with first light

and the round sweetness of pine

braided ribbons of torn green grass

How was your dream, my sleepy love? 

Was your heart, dancing near mine?

Did our fingers find their way, together to bind

through night, through distance, and time?

I miss your arms, as surely as you miss mine

The way morning brings sleepy kisses divine

Before all the world spins underfoot

Though we stumble,
                 we right
with one another.

And go we sweetly, on through the day. . .
                                                                       on through the day . 

Knowing

My eyes know you,
like the curl of a country road
lined with trees and blushed in leaves
to be taken by my wheels. . .
the gravity of thrills devouring my will
as I trace your dangerous curves.

My body knows you,
the rhythm intensifies my heartbeat
Sweat, beads as little tents in the desert
as I forget myself . . .
you are the moonlight on my skin, how you burn
as I ruthlessly throb and grind, probing for moisture.

My senses know you,
the scent of cookies, fresh and sweet
the joy of ginger biting my lips, my tongue
as I take another nibble. . .
the delight of cotton candy on a ferris wheel
our turn, spreads all the world before us.

My soul draws nearer to yours,
like a firefly in the summer night
landing on your outstretched finger tip
glowing my little butt off. . .
you are the summer to my life's story.

A reverent finger helping me turn the pages
with same care, as I would do for you.

The midnight of fallen stars

I hold on to every midnight thing, whispered soft in my ear.

The return home, is like a fluff of cotton candy
unwinding to a finger tip, searching for a pulse
I find only memories, on the slick top of this road

I hear your dream song. I write every note on my skin

The broad silver sides of monsters in the midnight deep,
swim the shoreless lanes, carving canyons with their lace-light wake,
They tear the night river, like lamp light broken on a mirror road's silver bones

This midnight road, is my river of fallen stars, flowing through the dark wood

The rainy windows bare a kaleidoscope of empty malls and slumbering towns
Echoes of the places we shall see, fingers knit, eyes upon each other, safe
Echoes of times we have tasted, lips curved, parted into smiles from our last kiss

Querida, your voice is in my head, and the endless rolling night is my body
frayed like the edges of a simple cloth
tattered and scattered by summer storm
until I am only a candle flame. . .
that is all there ever really was,
the center of me, that longs for the center of you. . .
Let us be light.

My Eyes on You

My eyes, they cross the bridge
to your beauty day and night,
Too fine a fluid line,
drawn with your jenga winning grin.

My eyes are not exotic,
nor are they sleepy in your moonlight;
They are flames,
in your forest,
burning and exact.
Taking moments of our closeness,
making food to feed my soul.

My eyes on you querida,
Their movement is a bird
in their first of many flights,
every blink is just a wing
wrapping round the rising moonlight.

They will not leave you,
my beloved. . .
but they stretch
like a folded arm,
   pinned
by our sleepy numbness,
then quickly, moving through dark
they find the first bridge back.

Eyes closed, do I find you,
sleeping next to me.
Our hearts make love in poetic time,
and breathing. . .
our breathing,
is a slow dance,
that we practiced,
every day before we met.

I give you (part 1)

Sometimes, I will dream your eyes when I close mine
And then a hectic day will smooth with pleasure, sublime
To you I write this sweet champagne, but know this
is prayer, and map; A song I sing with words unspoken.

To trace the lines of your ears, mi susuro dichoso
I take the sound of every cat's footfalls,
and the songs of silvery fish in gossamer deep,
Set them like a note of blue glacier on stone,
as a backbeat for all the days of our journey.

For your dangerous, heart-stopping curves hermosa,
I cut a gold-green dress from eyes fixed upon the sun,
a necklace of twilight treasures, snatched from a cat's eye,
Strung like morning dew, on threads of moonlight silver,
And place for my hand on the shivering small of your back

I make passionate kisses for your mind, mi amante,
Bawdy songs in irish pubs, slinky riddles for the club,
With paintings of dream, and poetry from steam,
They fold maps so we're closer, leap time, so we're together
Open your pages to my touch, and I shall sign my name.

It will not be a duck.

From the little boy to the little girl

Is this prayer, when our two hands meet?
That each star is a feeling we will share.
When first we danced as strangers sweet,
No other eyes do I remember, or compare.

Will I be the little boy,
alone and sitting on the yellow bus
bannered beneath my cardboard heart
glittering and red: a name, unwritten.

Will you be the little girl,
alone on a midday playground swing.
Joyful, flying open arms to azure sky,
lips wide in laughter and untouched.

Now I sit with you, as you with me,
not fork and spoon, but sea and sand.
A song of gulls and a ring of moon,
serenade the moments when we meet.

How could my eyes go anywhere else
As your voice curls around my ear like a vine.
We are fingertips and touching petals,
Folding together. One, as a morning rose.

We pour sweet wines and bubbles
into a glass to make it whole,
with pleasure and purpose to our lips.
As we pour springtime and sunlight
on the fire in each other's chest
So we are whole,
your body in my arms
Wine and glass, to our hearts.

Let us sleep then, you and I,
dreaming as a touch of velvet
on lip, skin and blushing cheeks.

I would whisper in your ear...
"Sé que valoro mi Valerie"
Sonriendo, "sé que me valora"

An Adoration of Ideas

I read dog-eared books of poetry,

sketching fabric lives, in their fashion, 

As fate, and fortune . . . elaborately free,

threading my truth in wonders. . .

I trace these stories over your palm,

Lace garlands of fragrant thought for your hair,

bowed with glided joy, and lyrical soul.

Humming. . . intimate, warm into your neck,

I adorn the curve of your ear, with an adoration of ideas,

Treasure, plucked from cradled arms, and lettered gods.

A tango of anticipation, swerve my lilting lips,

A pleasurable, rocking, bobbin lathe of words,

Pleasurable for they journey to your eyes.

As I read for you Cielito,

Tie my verse between two Ceiba trees, 

Our serene hammock of swaying contentment. . .

Together, joined in rhythmic discourse,

beneath the heaven of our twilight sky,

known, to only you and I.

Time

Time. . .

holds us all

so jealously

in the swing 

of her dance. . .

When we are apart. . . 

dressed
in the formal skin

of our work 

our obligations, 

We feel a longing 

for each other. . .

stretched out

over moments,

widening lips

without a voice

an unwinding road 

without signs

When we are together, 

some, might say,

we lost track of time, 

but I think 
it was time 

who lost track of us. 

As we live 

blissful eternities

in the urgent embrace

of each deep, 

lingering kiss. 

An evening disappears 

quick as an echo 

in the grey stone streets. . .

Querida. . . come time travel with me