You’re down the hall
sleeping
and I am awake
missing you
wishing you
were here
to assuage
this ache.
Poem- What I learned July 21, 2014
What I learned about you:
- you did not hang the stars
- you did not shave the moon
- you did not fuel the sun
- you make me super nova
- you make me new each months
- you make me shine
What I learned about us:
- we’re celestial
- we’re changing
- we’re burning
poem-handsome July 17, 2014
G r e e n e y e s,
h o l d m y h e a r t
t i g h t l y a g a i n s t y o u r s ;
l e t t h e i r c o m b i n e d r h y t h m
~ s y n c o p a t e d m e m o r i e s ~
d a n c e i n o u r
e m b r a c e .
.
.
.
Happy Anniversary, handsome. Sam Heughan has nothing on you.
poem-tolls July 14, 2014
He pays the toll
peck east
peck west
She’s the vehicle for
this journey
over-heavy for the road
burdened by billboards
Her engine rattles,
clanks,
thuds
down the road.
The convoy carries on
taking
a toll.
poem- dancing July 13, 2014
She wouldn’t dance.
But still
he spun her in circles
twisted her arms
flipped her over
spun her again
’til she was dizzy.
And yet
she wouldn’t dance.
poem-silence July 11, 2014
She fills the sky
with a rainfall of words,
a hurricane of syllables,
a thundering of sentences.
She brews a storm,
but he stands impermeable
in silent eloquence
amid her eye.
poem-glad July 7, 2014
She searches
for
words,
music,
assurances.
His tongue
writes
her poetry
and she sighs
on the harmony
of their song.
poem-caught July 2, 2014
The “Isle of Capri” scent
wafting from the Lampe Berger
was supposed to ensure
you
didn’t
walk up the stairs and ask,
“What’d you burn?”
Perhaps I’ve used this strategy
once too often?
.
.
.
I am vaguely amused that the photo on the Lampe Berger homepage shows the exact lampe that I was using… (cough)
poem- greedy June 24, 2014
I want
sun on your shoulders
breeze in your hair
speed in your feet
you with
me.
poem- nestled June 15, 2014
I crawl between clean sheets,
inhaling crisp scent.
You snore softly on your side,
then reach out and pull me
against you, our ankles entangling,
fingers weaving together
your snores still filling the
dark, dancing with me
in your dreams.
Shawn L. Bird 