can we blame the distance

you and I,
we are driving
the whole way to Pasadena.

white lines
waver in the heat –
parallel reflections
in hindsight
just behind horizon’s edge.

I wonder,
can the travels
bend our paths
back together

have we past-
through that intersection
well before starting
our trip to Pasadena.

Inspired by thoughts

longing for the warmth

the snow skifts
across grasses
frozen, disbelief
winter has come
too early

I remember
your hand
summer warm
in last winter’s
deep cold

my hand
chilled, curls
lonely in my pocket

Audio for watching chord progressions

By request…

Watching chord progressions

the sunlight
through window pane
traces yellow spotlights

dust motes
highlighting golden
hairs sprinkled across

the back of your hand
curled dark
around the fretboard

fingertips caress
soft chords
clear notes

face intent, absorbed,
joyous with words yet unwritten,
harmonies not yet played

To be the rosewood
warm under your hands,
making music with you.

brewing a tempest

honey for my tea
drizzled onto a finger
and licked off slowly

tea steeps in my mug
as I kiss you good morning,
strong and steaming hot

heated beyond measure
senses thoroughly shaken,
the sugar well stirred

Audio for “How spoken word should be done”

Not the phone book, physics, or calculus…

How spoken word should be done…

I read your poems-
rolling the words
in my mouth,
letting them brush
against my tongue,

stroking each syllable.
My lips close
gently on each m,
open on each ah.

I let the weight
of your intentions
settle deeply
into my core
as I speak,
the prepositions
whispering silkily
across our skins.

My voice rises
as I reach the climax,
drawing out intonation
each word
straining for meaning

until it is finished.
We bask together
in silence, then softly
murmured accolades
demand an encore
performance, and
we read again.

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