PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I brought you over

your favorite book

while you sat in your garden

in the summer.

My sleeves are not pulled up enough

and I find myself

tying my shoes to your ankles.

As the trees brush up against

the backside of your arm

I got to run and bring in

my own holiday.



The light and drink that cups your hand

are playing with the piano sound.

This angel is facing falter

and he could barely talk to me in a whisper.

Like the television whose gospel

are only gestures of holy come ons.

The qualm in the foxglove

is a design of risky happiness and seduction.

The pedal of rocks that line the yard

make a steady coastline and barricade

whose angry waves of leaves have fallen.



The undulating charm of it all

rests on the hand that stroked the back

of a woman who began crying.



Stay near me.

I got to bring the water.



The air is bored and swollen

and the killing that has called upon me

tonight

is the blue midnight reflection

that cast a still shadow by the pool.

We call all darlings that could dance

on any given holiday.

Because there is this war

Two arms full and heavy

and calling on me.



We can not accept time

without each other.

Stay near me.

Bring the water.