I suppose if I just stopped spinning
the world would settle itself before me...

I find your tongue appealing-
the way it settles...

I suppose I'm just an ink stain
of a cliche...

All at once
love steps lightly in...

When your tongue dripped silver buckets of verbs
without making a splash...

All the poems I wish your lips could feel,
to taste their raw discontent...

It feels off-color,
this readiness to whittle your integrity...

The air smells of honeysuckle,
it's almost too sweet to breathe...

It's late here in Carolina
and the crickets are chirping...

Bought
comfort...

It has been drab and bony
since your leafy palms gave shade...

As a child I spent countless hours
cradling thoughts...