The dishwasher hums with cyclical rhythm
and somewhere your feet are pumping at the same cadence
returning to me.
Water sloshes around the sealed box, cleaning,
and somewhere you are salty with wet, sipping Gater-aid
to get through kilometer eighty.
The kitchen dishes are washing
your pedals are turning
and I am waiting for your salty kisses.
Over there are rides and such,
but here are the barns and displays.
4-H sheep, goats, rabbits, and cows
The spinners and weavers.
Photographers.
Prizes for craftwork.
Mini-doughnuts and fresh squeezed lemonade.
Local talent on stage: kids dancing,
dreamers singing.
We stand at our assigned gate, and stamp arms
so folks can get back in later.
You don’t talk to me
I don’t talk to you.
That’s fair.
One finger tracing
One hand resting
Two hands kneading
Two arms embracing
Four lips brushing
I’m touched
I’m upside down
and it makes me dizzy
how so many years later
you can still do this to me.
I’m upside down
inside out and backwards
breathing like I’ve run a marathon
like you’ve decrypted my password.
I’m upside down
like I’m on a circus trapeze
another day with you, our love
is full of moments like these.
Leaving now
Drive safely
@ Olds
@ work
@ Golden
2:45 TO GO!
Sicamous! Count down to ravishing you!
21 mins………….
.
.
..
^ Real texts, those. It makes for an unconventional love poem. 🙂 The best part about being away is coming home to the one you love and leaping into his arms! I’ve been leaping enthusiastically into those arms for more than half my life. ((((sigh))))
Your touch
peels off the layers
and leaves me new.
.
.
.
.
(This is a sunburn poem, but don’t tell anyone. It sounds so much more romantic if you don’t know!)
She told you, didn’t she?
You saw it in her eyes and the set of her lips.
She had expectations,
and you, generally so sensible to duty,
ignored overt and covert messages,
and carried on blithely
as steam gathered in her head and shot out her ears
in silent reprobation.
Then you shrugged your shoulders, quirked your eyebrows,
and said, “What?” with a tone that flipped all switches of her self-control
and you were astonished at the explosion of emotion
thus released.
She told you. Why weren’t you listening?
He is silent after the question
and she can hear his thoughts weaving through truths
to find the one he can speak aloud.
She accepts his spoken thought
but is not deceived.
His relief is unwarranted.
Yes.
No.
Maybe so.
I love you, but
I love you,
but,
I love you, so
I will.
Do you?
I do.
.
.
.
.
If this poem had a ‘gag reel’ it would include
I love your
butt
(cough) But it doesn’t. So pretend you didn’t read that.
Happy Anniversary #30 to my long-suffering man. 🙂
Five years ago, when this blog was only a couple of months old, I posted this anniversary thought, complete with sepia toned wedding photo…
Three times a charm
at least for him, pumping joyfully.
She stairs at the ceiling.
Shawn L. Bird 