i have misunderstood
the plum
something so simple
something often overlooked
we feed each other slices
of sweet
ripe fruit
collecting the juice
with our tongues
and sucking out the flavor
from our lips
we taste both the fruit
and each other’s skin
this is our language
words don’t work for us
it feels primal
it feels perfect
this is all we want
sticky fingers and lips
and the pit we leave behind
the sky glows pink
a thin line of color appears on the horizon
it looks pale and soft
the trees stand as dark silhouettes
the humid air lingers around me
the heaviness is broken
a gentle breeze brushes past
it touches my skin softly
it is just a soft touch
hold on a moment
stay here through the night
stay
silhouettes begin to move
they move with grace
a thin strip of light appears
now, it is early dawn
stay here through the night
stay
it’s midday.
i empty the used coffee grounds
from the press.
it’s too late now for
another cup.
i carry the
grinds to the compost;
walking barefoot through the grass
the air is thick with humidity
the lawn
feels damp underfoot.
i pause, gaze upward,
shielding my eyes
from the sun.
above me,
one thin wisp
of cloud.
it seems adrift, out of place.
can you see this?
wherever you are,
can you see this?
the shape of the cloud
is so feminine
in shape;
voluptuous, round,
gesturing in a way that is both crude
and shy way.
can you see this?
i feel out of place.
here in the yard,
on the grass soaked with humidity.
can you see me?
wherever you are,
can you see me?
i stand there until
the cloud
melts away into blue,
a rich blue,
a humid blue.
wherever you are,
can you see me?
My body holds memories.
I sense time slipping by
through my fingertips.
Sometimes I lie awake
and trace the lines
that reveal my story
in the thickness
of my gut.
or I wander in
my dreams
looking for colors
that belong to things
I’ve forgotten.
This is time.
Cedar shingles
tell the story of seasons,
weathered and gray.
an unasked question.
a hint of passion
left unresolved.
Time heals
in scattered pieces.
Small fragments
of a face
once kissed and
now forgotten.
Time is a name,
one called out
in a dream
and unanswered in
waking life.
This is time.
a boy full of innocence
becoming a man
far too soon,
holding steady,
offering shelter,
holding words.
Time hasn’t moved,
only the distance
from my fingertips
to yours,
from my mouth
to your body.
This is time.
a face
aged by life,
wrinkled and worn,
with eyes
that burn with
fearful intensity.
a gift given by time,
Only by time.
i have not entered the room
where
we devoured each other.
where our
bodies feasted upon each other
with desire,
and hunger.
light enters
and casts shadows
that shift across the floor.
a gentle breeze, soft as breath,
stirs up echoes.
i hear faint sounds
that are almost voices,
almost words,
almost memories.
the scent of skin
soft light falls gently
across an arched
body
that shifts
beneath my touch
I speak a foreign language.
It feels like there are endless syllables and countless vowels,
And I speak it alone.
All I want is to feel good in my body and connect with someone else.
But I feel tangled
in a language that only I seem to understand.
When I speak, it feels heavy in ways I can’t describe.
It brings out meanings I never meant.
I kept my desire for pleasure and true connection to myself,
afraid of how much
my words might weigh on someone.
Then gentle fingers touched my lips and quieted the sounds.
A mouth met mine and took my words away.
Every syllable and vowel slowly faded.
As each sound lingered,
A voice, speaking my language, said,
I hear you.
I know your intentions.
I understand.
Speak without fear.
Speak honestly and
rest here, open and true
free from worry.
my longing for physical pleasure
and the sense of real connection came back.
With the language we both understand,
the language we share together,
We can show each other who we really are.
We will trace letters with our tongues,
and with soft breaths on our necks, we will write our stories.
The snow
had fallen overnight.
I was asleep.
I was away.
Somewhere far away.
Why always
away?
onebreathpoetry.com 