Ideas
sit at the
tip of my pen
smoldering like
my cigar burning
smoke and ash producing
nothing. Ideas sit at the tip bubbling
from the bottom of my glass like a rosy pink
champagne bubbles float upwards like promises
made in passion full of hope and feelings and producing
nothing.
Category: Romance
.,;:?!
Found
at edges of
thought
these
marks
afford
peace
pause
to then
think free
again
Friends
We began
as bulldozers
backhoes and
graters
in a box
filled with
sand and
imagination
We found
ourselves
catching
each others’s
eye
at a dance
in a new
sandbox
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
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.
