Bookie
the way you hold them
linger with their covers
jealous of your books
Red River Girl Posts
239/365
Posted in hello, moon, and you're it
moonsong
hot on your trail
with the top down
moon. even our skin
wants
to dance
with you.
Traffic
I saw you
walking home late
afternoon. Maybe
after dinner
at
your mother’s.
Looking right.
Then left. Before
crossing to close the last
block.
I wonder, if she served
mashed potatoes.
Your mother.
If she knew
the wind
was not the first, today
to sift your curls.
Kiss
your cheek.
No Answer
The package you requested,
cannot be
delivered.
Because the black cat
at the fourth floor
window
is watching. Because the lantern
creaks
and sways. Because the key took
a wrong turn. Because
the address book except
one page was thrown
away. Because the body
and the blood behind
the shed was
everything
you meant to send
instead.
What I Love Best About Sundays
Is the perfectly, perfectly
perfectly round,
round, smooth skin, tight
sweet cool
I can roll
on my tongue just to roll,
roll, bite, chew into
pieces of heaven.
Is when you say
One end, stem,
five-tip star
at the other–
Not round.
Is when I say
That may be.
But what
I love best
about Sundays…
are the blueberry, blueberry,
blueberry
kisses
from you.