Number nine 

I’m cold, and I spill on the coffee table 

my hearts still and still

surrounded by guards aghast by the pain 

pitter patter on the roof 

grommet sized thunder growls under branches and into the lions belly

Blowing smoke into pastures of promised land while images of you are supposed to poof

and here I am miles and miles away waiting for you to say 

I can feel you, your tongue, your lips 

wet and 

amiss in these heavy summer rains 

pitter patter on the roof- he serenades with a loose smile,

am I gonna go insane? 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s