My feelings for you are ripe like
huckleberries on a hot summer day
I treasure my love for you
nestled in a huck paradise
I give you my
heart that bleeds purple
Feasting on indigo
like the power of gemstones
Blue stars
August love is my number one antioxidant
favoring the most fruitful month
Trying to Write
I reached deep into a empty well
with questions, not words
Questions such as
will I ever write again?
My body cries to lie down
but my heart refused to obey
I struggled to form
anything from the pen
The house was quiet like the backyard
so quiet you don’t even know you’re alive
Moon shined hot florescent white
on a humid summer night
I sat for hours trying to write
my hand resigned the pen and turned
out the light
Nobody could blame me if I
crawled inside a warm bed, could they?
There was nothing new inside me
the well was bone dry
I studied the paper gleaming from the
moonlight where I saw it quivering
when my breath touched it
Before long, before I knew it,
morning came
The sun was ripe for the eye
The well was full and plentiful
Morning nourishes me, everything was
fulfilling.
I took all the time I pleased as
pen came together with paper and
words flowed from the ink, this pleased
me dearly.
Suppose I write down August,
and the word coast,
Put it under your pillow
When you read it
You will recall
Those days along
The shore
Marveling at the changing
Colors of the ocean
The sea lions
We saw
Sleeping on the sand
Like shifting black rocks,
The formation of birds
Writing poetry
In the sky, us, gazing in a field among cows
and horses You will recall how we let
the wind tangle our hair
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