Wednesday, June 1, 2011

catching the bus

Your face in the soft heat I wanted to cup in my hands
as if the moon was washing over my heart.
My god at times I feel as if I were a blade of grass
caressed by a cosmic breeze
bending and swaying
flatted against the damp earth when it rains.

Not the florescent lights or the monitor’s glare in front of me can
distract me of your pressing questions breathing through my soul.
My hands on the keyboard tingle with the waves of the sea
rolling down my fingers writing to you...

The air of night calling to the ether walking down Flushing
the bus is coming for me.
And as I sink into it's metal jaws my eyes close to the thought of you,
a cloud of warmth covers my consciousness
and I fall asleep with a kiss in my palm.

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