Also

I found some oldies I had started and never finished.
I hope you enjoy!


His nose was speckled with freckles given to him by the rays of the sun. They lay smothered in the crevices of his wrinkles given to him by old age. As his mouth moved, I swear I could see the dust gasp and cling to the open air. He was in love once, but now walked the streets of this town alone and full. I was graced with only one of his endless stories, memories. The flower of his heart, his Spanish goddess, his Stephanie.
Breathe in deep and hold onto the smoke, let it out slowly, only when you’re ready. A summer evening spent rolling joints and bruising fingers on guitar strings. Each cloud was placed in the sky so that no matter where the sun lay, you could make out the perfect circle of a shady, burning fireball. It was as if to say, “Enjoy this, you’re hidden and safe, but still burning, still awake, still here.” That was the existence of his summer. Burning, awake, safe. He sat, back to the fire, looking in the opposite direction of where the van had broken down 5 miles back. Staring off into the distance, down the road, for the past half an hour, he has been making out a flowing silhouette. Flowing skirt, flowing hair. That’s all he saw. As the figure slowly but surely crawled forward, he started to see colors and more distinct shapes. Her skirt was sheer and he could make out the perfect curving outline of her dark legs. Her waist long hair was filled with waves like an angry sea, dark and sensual.


----

It’s the middle of winter, when the air surrounding your lips tastes like an ice cube, and the ground you set your feet upon is a frozen desert. Naked, vulnerable with a sense of potential. The only color on the faces of the people passing you is the pink of their noses and the pale orange that the falling sun allows to rest on their cheeks. You can tell the time of day by the wideness of their eyes. Necks don’t exist during this season. A human’s only relation to a graceful giraffe is hiding in a blend of quiet wool. It’s now that you desire the touch of warm, moist lips on the space between your collar bones and defined jaws. The hot breath of another person is what you crave. It’s the middle of winter, when every thing is a mystery.
A man and a woman walk down perpendicular city sidewalks. The woman greets the corner with a sigh and rests her bundled rose body on a bench outside of a brick building. She closes her eyes, fighting to replenish moisture to them that was taken away by the seventeen degree air. She opens them, spiked by the unforgiving wind. With a glance to her right she notices that a man dressed in a mess of clothing has sat down beside her, his head buried in his blue tinted hands, his elbows on his shaking knees, attached to his covered legs, his feet, which are planted firmly on the concrete.


---

Hypnotized by the false premonition of guarantee,
The wolf howls at the moon with belief.
Unaware of forward steps in the snow, beseeching on the ground;
Imprinted and bleeding cool water,
Counting on the next snowfall, in time.
Somewhere, there are unique flakes that correspond with a girl’s heart.
The howling wolf and faithful girl swim in the same sea. Somewhere.

Sea lion crawls gracefully through salty tastes,
Head filled with great debris and good-hearted haste.
In contact with the salt, seeping through their pores,
A throat to match the rough reef, still below.
Somewhere, there are water blown whiskers that dine with a boy’s heart.
The crawling sea lion and untamed boy swim in the same sea. Somewhere.
Captivating and manipulating,
Soggy jeans and shear blouses.
A sea is a sea alone,
But with hearts flowing through the waters,
It’s potential is so much more.


---


Cracks on your lips and the saliva trapped in the imprints,
A desire for contact, living off of soft wishes,
Glowing peach skin ignites the situation we're in,
Bark of the trees claims your eyes,
Your hand claims mine,
This day matches the curve of your eyelashes,
Roaring of tigers and songs of crickets,
Are our transitions from day to night,
You urge me to dive, jump, fly,
Like the anticipation before a thunderstorm,
Before the earth cracks and bends accordingly,
Bowing in front of Mother Nature,
As your back arches and your body sweats,
A bolt of lightening catches my breath,
Lost for words, thoughts, and emotions,
All I can do is quiver in your presence,
Storm clouds scale your eyes,
I lay there trapped in your rhythm,
In every direction, like the thunder persuades the trees,
Suddenly, the ocean becomes calm,
Theres a light breeze blowing between moistened leaves,
The clouds lose their sickly look,
The sun is brought back into your eyes,
We lay listening to the faded song of the crickets,
Just as I drift into dream-world,
Your fingers dance on my stomach,
And I hear the distant roar of tiger morning.