words don't come that easy.

x

30.12.21
00:15

and paint your front door a lemon head yellow / no, a cotton candy blue / slather the crusted ends of bread in hand crushed marinara/ take everything with more than a grain of salt / grow dill in the window box / stop at roadside markets on the county routes / talk about Steinbeck and Charley with the farmer whose nail beds are all saturnine - caked with manure / devour the peaches all sloppily behind the steering wheel / sunshine dribbling down your chin / unfold your wrists like napkins / buy a bushel of blueberries, and an armful of sunflowers / so fresh the honeybees follow you back home / take the longer way/ the scenic way/ the way that brings you neck to neck with the CSX railways/clasp the vibrations of their steely, steadfast lumber within the heart of your lungs / take the dirt path on bare hand, on foot, and root yourself to the earth / collect the things you did as a child / striped rocks like tigers/ seashells cracked and whole / dull and lustrous /press forget-me-nots between the pages of the journal/ where you wrote about fevered daisy-chained feelings for auburn haired classmates / kiss with laughter, and clacking teeth like the way champagne glasses clink/let icicle fingers inch up the the spine under the flannel of your lover / make space for the dogs to sleep curled and patch-worked under and over you on the mattress/press your cheek into the cottony bristles of their fur / fold yourself like chocolate chips in the pancake batter of every somnolent snow swathed dawn / let love listen to you pee in the morning / let it taste your breath all punchy and fermented like cabbage / let it crack into the walnut shell that cradles your softness / like newborn light finding its legs.