the comment

That picture of me
I took before dawn
as I lay in repose
quiet, alone and free
the silence filling my mind.

That picture of me
fragmented and clean
sepia, redefined, askew;
totally unsure
what should I think
so I didn't for once

and was simply
and immensely pleased
with that picture of me.

"pictures of you..."

The words
they felt wrong but
you tend to send
those notes through me
slow and sweet
with a pulsing back beat.

under construction

ikeeprecallingthetasteofyourskinandhowyoumakemelaugh;
you'reanaddiction,helpmekeepitcalmedandnotconsumingbut
givemewhatineed?bemydealer?

over and over I recall

your skin the taste

and how we laugh

no haste to spur us

you’re a slow addiction

help me keep it calm

unconsuming but

feed my need

be my dealer

I
Always think the best of me;
if I seem cross I am not
it is simply the medium I use
and lack of forethought
on words that could cut,
could slice and bruise.

In language and laughter
perhaps I may have conveyed
sweet chiding admonishment,
teasing and want (of you)
to be well and see me soon
as was my intent.

Yet perhaps you read me right?
And in the briefest of breathes
it was I that in your reply
took words too harsh having
second guessed my own,
bowing to fears fought long;

of being misconceived
of feeling in the wrong,
of disbelief I too am wooed
and upon my second read…
my doubt did conclude,

did I not believe the best of you?

II
stop
breathe
relax
fluidity

III
She clairfies because she cares
and you are patient and kind.