Poets sleep awake

Photo by @dan_cretu from Instagram

 

I need my naps

I am a modern poet

in semi-deep sleep

never fully awake

dreaming about pre-raphaelites and the Rosettis

still thinking

in all the colors

you left behind.

I hug you close

yet you disappear

into orange clouds

and sunset lawns.

I want to forget

the long trails

to your heart

and climb up

your mountain

to kiss your eyes

to sleep.

Alas, I slumber awake.

Awake, yet not.

Discussion

I don’t fall into categories

I prefer to create them

make them shine on my skin

so only lovers with no thoughts

can see them. Leave chat groups

that are toxic for the soul and

create an affair with words

you adore. I discussed poetry

and words and how I have always

been writing, only now it has

controlled me, I can’t contain

it in a beer barrel anymore and

put a lock on it for happy hour.

I can’t shut it off and go to sleep.

I wake up with it and walk around

with these words on the tip

of my fingers and my tongue.

Here they are discussing the

way we move in and out of bed,

the way we talk, with respect

and patience. The way you ask

questions and wait for a reply.

No one ever cared for the same

reasons. Discussions of the soul

with no words are the ones

I cherish. The way we communicate

without words

that first brought us together

and will eventually tear us apart.

I can see the story, I can write

it, I can direct it, I can begin

and end it. I know how to

do it all

for I am a dreamer

and so are you.

Featured Image -- 6065

 

 

A poem about your back

I wrote the five letters of your name

in cursive writing with my fingertips.

I wrote the rest of the poem

in my head. It never comes to me

in the moment. It comes after

in riptides and synonymous with

coffee drinks. It arrives at my front

gate and whispers how you made

me feel cherished and adored.

I wrote in my head, on your back,

I love you, for showing me

your eyes, your thoughts, your touch

for having me

in your life. It is not even the

hours that matter, but what you

do with the ones that do, with the

silence and the words. Nothing

is something. When you ask me

what am I thinking? I am thinking

about how I do not want time

to cheat me, but it seems to

never stop banging with truth.

I felt your closeness

inside me.

And even laying together under

the sheets with no sun

brought the heat of Venus

into our hearts.

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