Blue is the color that fills your room every time.
Waiting for my train; l lied to my mom.
Brown is the color of your eyes that I fell in love with.
My heart was broken, how did you fix it?
We're lying on your couch.
"Home alone" and gentle touch.
Midnight; the Christmas tree
And your hot, sweet black tea.
You warm me with your hands,
I kiss your perfect face and...
I wanna dance with you in the rain or snow,
In very worst heat or great storm.
You caught me when I was falling (down).
I'm so afraid of being alone now.
Green is the color of my eyes that you look into
every time I come to your town.
Black is the color of my T-shirt, that smells like you,
Now it's in the air when I think of you, babe.
Small pizza;"I care a lot"
Boy I know what you want.
Our photos on your phone.
Scarlet marks on collarbone.
You hold my hands till they're warm.
The world's gray, but we are golden.
I wanna dance with you in the rain or snow,
Even if they say it is wrong.
You caught me when I was falling (down).
My whole world is you and I.
your soft fingers
trace my collarbone
where the shadows pool.
it is twilight
and everything feels hushed.
we need not speak of tomorrow,
or any light left by the front door.
there is only
the weight of our comforter
and the cedar fragrance on your skin.
my dearest, kiss me
where the pulse beats loudest,
right where throat meets shoulder
as our breath
gets tangled
in the bedroom air.
i hear faint sounds of traffic outside,
wet tires hum on the asphalt,
but in here,
we're safely tucked away
from the wind at the window.
yes, my sweet, kiss me...
press your chest against my spine
and let our heels
find each other under the sheets
while the sleepy world
is cold and still.
Is it wrong
to want to kiss your collarbone
Knowing it is an impossibility
Is it wrong to
Want to be yours
To hope against hope
for something that cannot be
To want to etch the shape
of your eyes in the back of my mind
to want to remember them forever
Is it wrong
that I recognize your silhouette
In the distance
to want to caress your face
to be able to hold your hand
to want to hug you
when I feel like giving up
Knowing it cannot be
Is it wrong
to be feeling this way
Your wrists smell of fig sap and October rain
your shoulder blades two furrows turned for seed
your spine the long fence-row the sparrows read
at dusk, each vertebra a sheaf of grain
The vineyard heaves into your windowpane
as roots cleave—slow, below, agreed
and where your collarbone dips, the ripe world feeds
its split apricot, moth-wing, what my palms have gleaned
I turn toward you at the sink, your hair still wet
and lay my ring along the small of your back
the pear boughs laden, the foxes at the run
the creek gone sloe at the farthest bend
what forty years of kneeling cleaves in earnest
one body known, the soul brought into harvest.
======
The mark you left on my collarbone
Immersing itself with the red glow in the room
Your fingers still doing your thing through my hairs
As the smoke from your cigarette fills up my lungs
That’s when you whispered into my ears
While I was too high on your love
“do you still want me?” you asked
And I begged for more!
The sun pours molten gold
across the open field,
thick as honey, sweet as forgiveness.
Bare feet kiss the warm earth,
kicking sparks of dust and green.
Her yellow dress flares open
a second sun spinning round her thighs.
No music leads her,
only wind through tall grass
and the bright gossip of birds.
Still her body answers,
arms wide, claiming the sky.
She twirls,
and her shadow twirls wilder,
long and dark and utterly free,
mimicking every leap, every reckless joy.
Heat kisses her skin
collarbone, eyelids, the soft webs between fingers
until she glows from within,
a living lantern of light and laughter.
Hair whips like flame around her face.
Breath rises sharp and sweet.
For this bright, burning moment
there is no yesterday,
no tomorrow
only the drum of bare feet,
the rush of blood,
and the sun pouring love
onto every inch she offers.
She is not dancing for eyes.
She is the dance.
She is motion made golden,
a heart too full to stand still.
And the sun,
delighted,
kisses her back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Grammy’s pearl necklace~
still warm from her collarbone,
now cool in my hands,
each bead a closed eye.
Pop’s pocket watch still ticks,
though no one winds it~
his thumbprint smudged
on the glass like a ghost.
Mom's wedding ring
left on the windowsill,
collecting sunlight
and fingerprints.
These things I cherish
but never use,
these small,
heavy ghosts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cedar fragrance floats softly in the air
like old ghosts awakening after sleep.
Inside, yellowed envelopes carry
the silent burden of hands
that never delivered their confessions.
A brittle map traces borders
that dissolved with the century's breath.
In the probing moonlight,
tarnished brass hinges moan.
Beneath folded sweaters,
apologies fossilize,
and grief settles like dust
on unworn wedding lace.
A sapphire brooch recalls
the heartbeat under a collarbone
where it pinned courage tight
until surrendering.
Trapped light holds
what daylight wouldn't understand.
Within attic walls
the lid groans echoing
how memory bends
under its own weight.
Secrets don't suffocate here~
they become the wood's grain.
Honey light pools
in my collarbone
this slow golden ache,
like swallowing laughter
backwards until my ribs hum.
Someone should bottle this fever,
this sugar-bright bruising
where joy pressed too hard:
tender and electric and mine,
all mine.
It began when a woman by a pool,
suddenly became fearful seeing water
causing her stomach to churn.
Just from looking at the water—
not when it touched her skin.
The wise sage pointed to a spot
beneath her eye,
an acupuncture tapping point,
connected to the stomach meridian.
Tap there, he said. Just for two minutes.
The dread eased, and with it,
the fear or water faded
The sage then showed other places
on a map of the body, to tap to relive pain
and to ease anxious thoughts.
Side of the hand – eases resistance and self-doubt.
Top of head – clears mental fog.
Eyebrow (near nose) – calms fear, stress, and trauma.
Side of the eye – softens anger, frustration, indecision.
Under the eye – soothes anxiety and vulnerability.
Under the nose – releases shame and hidden guilt.
Chin point (below lower lip) – heals unworthiness and hesitation.
Collarbone (just below) – settles worry and fears of the unknown.
Under the arm – helps with insecurity and feeling exposed.
I didn't fill out any paperwork.
There was no memo, no consent form.
Just a nameless morning when the mirror refused
to acknowledge anything above my collarbone.
After that, people entered me carrying grief
in cardboard boxes. Pressed buttons
for floors that didn't exist.
A man from 4D requested the roof,
as if it were still an option.
On Thursday, a child in a yellow parka
whispered a song
I recognized from my sleep paralysis years.
It all arrived sticky and wrong
though I tried to hum along,
my cables winced.
By Sunday I was hosting more
than traffic. Something moved
inside the machinery, something
older than ballast or balance,
and it wouldn't stop licking the grease
from its own teeth.
It told me to smile more.
I jammed the doors.
hummingbird—
someone's mouth
in my throat
At the end of the day,
we meet one another and
speak on all things we fell
in love with in the hours of the sun
the book we read with a whisper,
peppermint scent in the garden,
children's laughter in the park,
the ladybug crawling on the bark
the tail-brush of the cat
—
At the end of the day
We are one heart
that sinks into another,
one freckle of nature combined,
collarbone to collarbone
and even the rustling leaves dip
to keep us warm in their sway,
in the hours of the moon
because love knows love
A belle, ethereal and calm,
Was cursed with eternal tears.
Her grace was destined to decay,
were that which caused her tears revealed.
Her face, a sparkling mess of dew,
Disguises all the pain within
With rosy cheeks and crystal tears
That crash upon the collarbone.
"They're tears of joy," she would pronounce
Lest all her charm should turn to stone,
"Enjoyed by all except myself,"
Inside her heart she would bemoan.
A muse of grief had she become,
Provoking poets, painters, too,
To make art out of tragedy;
Pianos to articulate
clandestine melancholic tones.
Concealed must all her pain remain
So Art Utopia sustains.
The season of autumn is the time for a fall
So I fell in October, I gave you my all
You caught me and smiled and I kissed your sweet lips
Crisp air and sweaters and your softly curved hips
I traced a finger over your collarbone
You told me I never had to be alone
We stood under a crimson canopy
I told you that you were dear to me
That’s when we first said the word ‘love’
We held hands to keep warm, yours fit me like a glove
Apple cider, cardigans, I loved every minute
But calling you my girlfriend was by far the best of it
I got on my knees and made you my queen
You told me to only say what I mean
The beautiful landscape lifted our mood
And in the splendor of fall our love was renewed
Pass me along
a pair of drumsticks
so I can create
vibrating calypso melodies
on the steel drums
found within the bones of my collar
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