PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Like flat guitar chords or snails on hot sandy Sidewalks,

Like scratchy summer grass

I dance,

In

And out

Of sleep.



You stand above my bed with a blurry face,

Is it morning?



I see my headboard swirl to meet like concubine Branches, like mercury falling into the hub.

Yet, I can see only lines of you like watercolors or Crayon shavings.

Sit, please sit.



The scuffed-white paint on my door is peeling away from the hole I kicked; it snags blue jeans as you Leave,



I ought to get up.



Last night’s window is still open,



Old clothesline wagging in the wind.

The sun hasn’t come up over the playhouse yet.



It must be early.