smells of oil and driftwood
of candle wax and melted solder
chips of things we find in our
bed in our clothes our hair
so far we have come close
to stamping each other out
erasing each other in a series
of ratcheting needs spelled out
in early morning arguments
amazing how little we can say
without listening you would talk
of ants while I am on the theme
of butterflies when I come over
to put my tongue on your neck
you ask if I have turned
the generator on I sit back and
think of planting crops while you
would have us out there cutting
trees gravel spits up when your
car pulls out of my driveway
my dishes clank
together in the sink and I remember
the first time I pushed my face
against your sunwarmed shirt
the smell of seaweed wild roses
and wet leaves
published in:
Showcase Press
Issue one 2006