Love Letter #72: Still

I want to feel the sun
reckless upon my face,
unguarded, like wildflowers;
like blades of grass
slipping through cement cracks.
Let the morning bleach my hair,
tame my fingers with rings
of rainbows and dew
and when evening comes,
let constellations
encircle my silhouette;
leave me blushing love
like poetry to the moon.

Rethinking Sticks and Stones

Past springs forth
like seasons
when words flowed
from indifferent lips.

Residue travels through thoughts,
clings to ribs like a constant ache;
last messages sent, letters unopened-
marked “return to sender,”
and your last words still sting-
burn all the way down

like alcohol;

like my eyes
on Father’s day.

Lifeline

Let not doubt
pass through your lips,
like smoke signals

to the mind.

Let love
intercept
— the flow
warm vessels

to the heart.

Celestial Pirouette

Bend me like a flower;
petals to the wind,
stem arched,
receiving love;
mold me like clay;
transform me,

like stars
usher in the night.

Finale

Spot clean
garments of love
so only the stain
remains.

.

Love Letter #71: The Vine

You and I are seamless souls,
but, he is in the midst
of our spirits, our breaths;

the vine that holds these branches.

Let these fruits ripen-
not far from the tree;

winds carry sweetness;
sprinkle stars he strewn,
strategically,

like the union of us.

Spice of Life

Sometimes, you have to escape
to a soft place where words are warm
like the scent of Grandma’s apple pie.

Love Letter #70: Remnants

I couldn’t feel the sun anymore
or anything yellow, since you,
except butterflies, fluttering
through strands of my hair,
tickling my senses,
stealing my attention,
like you always did.

When Empty is Full

I sat
collecting broken pieces
of you.

He rose,
He twirled

until the past spilled out.

~

Tea Party

Place settings for four,
Mom brought violets
for the centerpiece;
dolls in their Sunday best,
me, in pigtails
and my favorite dress.

His voice always did startle me.

Grandma brought glue
for the handle.

If only my heart was porcelain.

High Note

I woke up that morning
with a tickle in my throat
for something-
(anything but fancy,)

and I had you in my sights.

When my tone of voice
captured your attention,
syllables flowed like a river,
continuously
and all downhill.

Like a soprano,
I hit a high note

when you finally let me speak.

Spectator

Should stars need realignment,
flowers, sprinkles of sunlight,
trees seek wind,

could I just lay
in your shadow

dancing to the rhythm?

~