Smoke Signals

And just like the split second you have

between striking a match

To light a cigarette

Before the wind extinguishes the flame.

That is how quickly,
how desperately

I fell in love with you.

Charge.
Ignite.
Connect.

Pull you into me.

Aware of the danger.

Deeply inhaling the desire.

Sheer, hazy, poisonous wanting.

Come into me.

Flood me from the inside.

Stain me.

This vessel is pitless.

Don’t pity me.

I am aware of the effects.

Each kiss like a game of chicken.

Full speed.

Gauging focus.

Waging war against my body.

The Russian Roulette of your

Touch.

Caress.

Embrace.

Defiance vs. Embarrassment.

No judgment.

Only the sweet release.

Each light leads to darkness.

Pushing.

Hardening.

Stiffing.

Compacted. 

You slide out.

Onto my lips.

Fading worry.

Relax me.

Release me.

Leave your scent on my skin.

Ever lingering.

Split seconded in the wind. 

This Land

I don’t like where this poem is going.

Don’t be perplexed.

I knew it was coming.

Knew it was too honest

When it entered.

Took up roots in my heart.

Grew like dandelions in a desolate

Hillside across my soul.

Pretty and pesky.

Picked and blown.

Riding the breeze into my mind.

Seemingly ungatherable puffs

Force my hand.

Sometimes the swiftness of change

Feels like the rapture.

The promise of tomorrow disappearing.

Today’s hope.

Yesterday’s victory.

Vanish.

The gift of time.

Stolen.

Sent to a home boxed by imagination.

The cause that effects you

Becoming a stranger in the mirror.

Of course the grass isn’t greener.

This is a dry land.

A fruitless nation.

Do not plant the seed.

There are no tools to sow it.

No workers to water.

No last names.

No inheritance.

No generations.

Vacant womb.

Aborted possibilities.

This cradle.

Warm and empty.

The sweet nectar activated for

Suckling can not be coaxed.

This land is your land.

This land is my land.

From the sweeping peaks of my thighs.

To the valley of their meeting.

From the rolling hills of my breast.

To the great plain of my abdomen.

To the winding roads of my hips.

Untended.

Unintended.

No consequence.

Consequence implies blame.

There is no reason.

I reason with fear.

Cowar at the thought.

That whoever He is

Will belaboringly love me.

That he too

Will wrestle…

In His heart.

In His soul.

In His mind.

About the conditions of this land.