Words

Words flow
like motor oil;
thick and
slippery
they leap
from the sea
of mind
too slick
to grab
they
slide past
my pages

Loving Men-Fixing

Fixing
hair his hair
I blend
wooden fingers
through
night time
waves

Fixing
his tie
pulling
draw-cords
on curtains
wooden fingers
tighten
his knot

Fixing
his smile
dabbing
corners
for crumbs
wipe clear
his smile.

His hair
like fur
my fingers
kissing12 tangle it
like poorly
wound yarn

His back
like the state
of Wisconsin
is broad atop
narrow below.

His tie
like an obstacle
or hurdle
finally loosens
by my tugging
drawing him
near, knotted
silk, unwound
it’s a sash of
triumph

His lips
are my medal.

when we
kiss
kissing10 your eyes
get lazy
like cats
or the sliver
of moon

when we
kiss
your lips
get moist
like sponges
or succulent
fruits or flowers

when at last we
kiss
you become
weak
like blossom
heavy
bouquets.

Poet

an
ancient woman
threading beads
on fine
linen threads.