Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes

Raisin Iced Moonshine

your lips were raisin plum, iced, on coffee stained teeth,                                                                                   in your eyes I seen the moon reflected in auburn lighted midnight glittery rings.                                   First night we became undone in the same threads my great grandmother drew,                                 from hearts flowers, our garden was not peaceful, it was filled with bugs and weeds.

You were a drifter with a broken down Mustang,                                                                                         never afraid of anything but touching,                                                                                                                     so when you had to cling to me or become an ice box of limbs nobody would dethaw,                       you debated on it with every cool wind inside you,                                                                                             finally took my hand when you seen me goad you on,                                                                                         roughly, binding my warmth inside your sleet fingers of sharp edges.

We laid like that all night, only holding hands, nothing more.                                                                         I closed my eyes listening to you breathe wishing I could be that calm.                                                     My heart kept running, out of time, space, longing for the sun to rise.                                                   Somehow I knew I was losing this will within myself,                                                                                           a kind of passing on to the weeds, becoming a seeded sensation of nature.                                                

Your dreams were raspy, like a cocoon of biting little marigolds in the field of corn.                             I heard you cry out in whispers of something or maybe someone,                                                                 wondering if this new was inside of you as well?                                                                                                     If it was you never did tell me,                                                                                                                                       not that you would cause that is touching with the mind.                                                                             You were a drifter with a broken down Mustang,                                                                                                   only afraid of one thing, touching,                                                                                                                             yet you slept holding my hand the first night we met,                                                                                         leaving me to watch the rings of the moon, raisin iced, plum, glittery,                                                         magically peeking out from my slanted blinded windows,                                                                               me with perfect sight, watching the moon quiver to your breathing all night long.