a taste of remorse

sipping steaming tea
to soothe my raw swollen throat
thick with reserved tears

dollop of honey
added to my strong Earl Grey
sweetening regrets


replying to http://bwfiction.wordpress.com/2012/10/15/steeping-poem/

I only buy Lipton now…

From thoughts about a post by billgncs  http://bwthoughts.wordpress.com/2012/09/09/food-as-art-tea/

i sipped steaming tea

until only leaves remained –

my future, fortune

forecast by remnants,

cradled in a fragile

translucent cup.


The sun shines brightly on

the long tendrils of your hair

tossed heedlessly into the wind,

mirroring the milkweed seeds-

free to roam,

no longer tethered into place.


The oak leaves

vibrant green, yellow,

now faded sepia, curled tightly

into themselves.




They splinter underfoot

as we walk mindfully

just-far-enough apart-

arching trees pruned back

over country roads,

so a strip of blue sky

always shows through

the yearning branches.


The clear, pure light traces

the gentle slope of your cheek

as it turns aside,

ducking my ponderment,

hiding eyes

from my view.


The road’s gentle curve,

visible far in the distance,

slips below the horizon

moving on

soon out of sight.

A sense of Autumn

gauzy fog patches
blending like watercolors
all trees into one

A bat wheels and swoops
Fixated on a small moth
In the growing dusk

the smell of burnt leaves
permeates the neighborhood
lingers in your soft hair

blisters on my thumb
evidence of raking leaves
with you in the sun

your lips cold on mine
the taste of apple cider
sweetening your kiss

cold snap

no heat in the house

nose reddened, fingers tingle

cat warm on my lap


the pink begonias

started from grandma’s cutting

thrive in spite of frost


six green tomatoes

left to freeze upon the vine

silvered in moonlight


frost on the windshield

a surprise in the morning

I am late to work

weighing heavily

the moon lays heavy

in the oak’s almost bare limbs

cradled before fall


my words lay heavy

in the silence between us

air too thick to speak


ripples of remorse

traveling across your face

a stone in the pond

tender is morning

the sky blushes pink
muted light through the window
shadows on your face

a flush slowly spreads
across the cream of your face
mirrored by the dawn

boneless limbs askew
as dawn-tipped breasts rise and fall
your face soft with sleep

My river

the small of her back
smoothly cleft by river bed
and rocks of her spine

my hand warms hip’s curve
gently smoothing the soft skin
tracing bones beneath

your body a bow
arching smoothly towards me
taut with urgency

as a river molds
to muddy banks of the shore
you flow against me

heated by your breath
my skin puckers from the cold
when you turn away

Inspired by words of a dear friend.

Muted overtones

charcoal smudged mountains
whitewashed by thick morning fog
cool mist on my face

crayon colored trees
drip bright leaves along the path
burying acorns

the chill on my neck
sepia-toned memories
the branches now bare

I bury my face
in your neck’s fragrant hollow
holding time captive
the sharp scent of burning leaves
forcing our lives to move on

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