white noise

your measured breathing
humming of the cicadas
I slip into sleep


I can barely see
the freckles on your shoulder
in the faint morning light
until I’m close enough to
feel your warmth against my lips

reminiscent deux

just after the dawn
a sliver of moon still hung
above the pine tree

when I saw you last
our fingers slid palm to palm
lacing together

fingertips tracing
across the plains of your face
the curve of my lip

searching in the dusk
for unspoken emotion
like Braille on your skin

the pale moon of your nail bed,
ever present scent of pine




when drawing a hyperbola
your pencil must swoop
curve around gently
allowing for the
and the end
to reach longingly
outward towards infinity

I remember your back pressing
into to my chest as we swung
on the porch swing
my arms sketching
a circle with
you as the center
pretending there was
no end to us only a beginning

hoping we were still
a circle that
wrap around
again to the start


Second try at this. I lost the whole sonnet. Couldn’t remember anything but the first stanza. I don’t ever write things down anywhere else … stupid word press has been eating my posts this week.

as dawn paints the sky

a faint sliver of moon hangs

above the pine tree


Today I realized
that time
much like Schrodinger’s cat
has ways of jumping forward quickly
yet also standing still

last summer under
the bright noon sky
your rough fingertips
against my lips
as you fed me
sun-warmed blackberries
picked while we walked

your nails
were polished smooth
not scented of blackberries
as you slipped your
hand from mine

saying you still loved me
and walked away.



your favorite

dusk settles over
daisies along the white fence
painting both salmon


fireflies flicker
along the edge of the bay
water reflecting light


sun casting shadows
stretching across the white sand
the bay streaked with red


crisp sun-scented sheets

rasping gently across my

Tender sun-crisped skin

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