Alphabet City

And she and I’d
while away hours, 
eating wild white rice 
with sweet-sour beets


(…who could ask for anything more?)
cc: CC ‘23

A goldfinch alights on my lemon tree
and I politely request a song, a lilt
if you will

she a silhouette on a branch
against dying sky

a throaty thrill,
a true trill from
the heart

I feed you
gladly

Still you fly

cc: CC '23

Never underestimate 
the loneliness of anyone 

cc: CC ‘23

What happened to the morning dove,
she who’d croon her trailing lilt 
too soon, too soon she would seem to say
in sun or daybreak’s mist,
her counterpoint in step
to the finch and the wren
both common as she in a world newly lit
such as then, such is now

cc: CC ‘23

Salt rims her eyes,
where tears had been.

Mascara runs on
jacquard cheeks; Pierrot.

Pale lips part:
shells, hollow,
pinholes,
twilight.

Luminous anemone,
fluorescent trails,
miles of blue in green.

God, her aroma
sweet, incense,
sweat, essence
hot on the exhale.

Nothing so soft
as the space between her eyes.

Ride her nose,
down dimples,
for lips.

Arabesques ’bout her lobes,
carve the neckline’s
long mortise.

Filigree atop her skin,
dampened, one continuous kiss,
without time nor need for air.

I yell for the world to “Clear!”
a time for fibrillation.
(I’m thinking maybe titillation?)

Or getting to the point:
distillation.

I lose myself in her,
double our hulk,
our girth.

For every front,
a back. For every figure,
a ground. For every pull on the string,
fluttering wings in the palm.

For every locked gaze
lays a walkway.

A john boat, a fair, the tunnel of love,
caramel, candy apples.

We coil together,
we roll and we tumble,
play-doh, rock, and sinew.

And in the end,
she’d prop up on elbows,

she’d say,
“You’re my favorite people.”

cc: CC '13, '23

I'd seen you shine
from different angles
once from afar above
so tiny yet
you filled
the sky
and I
resigned myself
to float
airily 
down to you
for you
so you
and I
could sway
away
together

and we 
are just
a beacon now

cc: CC '23

A single snap of a finger
aloft, midair, a sly smile
in soft light, cunning and cute
it will shoot you 
straight in the eye, 
no lie - words...
not bullets, of course 

cc: CC '23

Birds 
on branches 
outside silhouettes
against curtains
drawn

cc: CC ‘23

Not a state of mind
at a local tavern
but a play 
          we’d run
playing touch
          on the front lawn

catch the ball 
in its shade

cc: CC ‘23