Lunch Box

She has pomegranate eyes and cherry lips,
snow white teeth and chocolate hair.
she is breakfast for the lustful,
dinner for the vengeful,
and lunch for me.

I wrap her in my plastic arms
and seal her air tight with a kiss.
She does not struggle but rather gives
and assists.

I crave her on Sunday afternoons
with such force no substitute will do.
I chew slowly to savor the richness
of her boastful peach skin.
Drink in her girlish apricot sent.

My meal, my girl
with the pomegranate eyes.

Midnight

The corners of my eyelids ache
weighed heavily down
by images to come
through cover of darkness
with skin curtains gently shut
locked by night's dew
and lashes touching cheeks
I wait hopeful
for my inevitable dreams of you.

Domestication

Origionaly written 11/20/07

I could give you cathedrals.

Ritualistic emotion full of guilt,

build you small towns with lazy government

and white picket fences.

Cookie cutter existence hiding behind

rush hour and iced coffee.

I could give you eternity.

Melting snow caps and dying penguins,

exhaust breath and smokey blue jeans

hold you in tar pit arms with black top eyes.

I could promise you salvation.

tangle our fingers and mash our lips

search for your tongue and teeth with my own.

Keep you tied up with my shoestring limbs

and salty sweat.

You could give me peace.

Give me your sticky secrets,

glue us together with speech and text.

Convince me to stay

rooted in your earthy embrace

grounded by your weight.

We could have redemption.

Something to write home about

Origionaly written 06/05/07

It has rained for nearly four weeks
hot, sticky Texas storms.
June nights spent befriending mosquitoes on back porches,
chasing them with filtered smoke.

27 days since last I saw the sun,
though his heat has not been missed.
Still pressing down through rain and fog,
burning skin so as not to be forgot.
Red, orange oppression blinding rough sky.

I have grown more fond of moon,
her soft reflection.
Kind, cool air and shadowy forgiveness,
blankets made of southern darkness and near desert stars.
Gentle, blue relief, light tears and clouds still seen.

You stole my days, but I have kept my nights.

Cursing winds ignore the clock,
and still angry drops prefer the day.