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,

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.


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,
and all downhill.

Like a soprano,
I hit a high note

when you finally let me speak.


Shout (From the Mountain Top)

Should I take
the heart of me,

lay the broken pieces out;

show you
how he put them together
with just a touch

of grace.


Brain Freeze

My mind is void of you,

with exception
to the occasional echo;
a faint innuendo

a temporary pause

in my step.