I want to own youI want to own your eyes, my oases- I'll wade in your irises, lose my footing in their hue,find peace lost in your pupils, then sink to sleep.I'll brush ashore and wake along an eyelash,travel light footed along your nose, then waltz down the bridgeto revel in the landscape of your body.I want to own your lips-lie at lengths along them, pitching whispers down your throat.I'll pause for a second just too long, watch your mouth curl to a smirkand feel both our cheeks blush.I want to trace your jaw, brush my fingers along the edge and imagine the feelingto hold your face and lean in close.I want to sail along your breath,
ReflectionsWhen is the last time you looked in the mirror I mean really looked and you weren't trying to spot a blemish?Did you notice how your face is creased in the corners near the temples and the mouth and how that's true beautiful beautyor was your mind stuck trapped in tar puddle pupils that dilated in and out of focus on fine upper lip and stray eyebrow hairs?When was the last time you wore your bed head out decidedly perfect somehow having survived slumber and the slight slick of the pillow?Did you consider hiding under a hat hiding inside for the day or did you skip triumphantly into the sunshiny as licked stones st
Comfortable LivingI live in soft clefts of tangled sheet,the fleeted spaces between light,calm sighs at midnight;the paper-thin distance from slat to slatof closed blinds, where wind and darkness failto invade light. My fingers walk in trailsfrom pink mouth to smooth napein a twisted zigzag; my body lies flatagainst the velvet curve thatyour broad shoulders and spine make.I live from inhale to inhale,where caresses leave goose-bump Brailleand each word spells elation.I exist between fermatas, the short restamong strums and lyrics from your chest;when eyes meet and time suspends.I live behind closed eyes,where vivid dreams of y
While You Were OutI sifted through denim and neon, carefully foldedfresh and one-more-wear pieces, placedothers in a mound made from your closet raid; brilliantnew whites and dryer-faded reds cappedthe pale lime and seafoam pile. I imaginedhow your body fills them out- how they hugyour chest, move with each breath; how each inhale pressesyour scent into each fiber and stitchso that while you are you outI will miss you.And the mountain smelled of you,your days-old cologne, the stimulating scentof Euphoria from your show two nights ago.When sunlight hit the peak, I could faintly seestrands of your hair glow;a few short blondes, my
Forms of SilenceResounding silence.She stares outthe window: open.He does not ask what floats in her mind.What floats in her mind are thoughts of escape—the ground is a short distance.She would grab a dingy and float into the bay,float into the bay in silence.Better yet, she could be her own vessel.A starfish— drifting in the bay,drifting in and out of consciousness,while cool water plugs her earsto sound.The only noise, an echoingof musing thoughts and mutedreverberations of the ocean's sighs.She could fly away—she could be a seagull, sailingalong the soundless breeze;or a crustacean, scuttlingalong t
Sta.sh
