Air Kissed

 Intimacy happens 

without touching. 

Tongues send syllables 

singing indiscreetly by

 word of mouth like air kisses. 

Fingertips wave them windward

 over the crowded listening.

He aims deliberately for oasis faces. 

  I don't stop to wonder if  

they were meant for me before I 

catch them and press them

 to my greedy mouth. 

Eating Digestives

Your poems stick to my 

unsophisticated palette

like peanut butter pasting

my tongue and mind together. 

Soft pink inner linings absorb

this nourishment first

before I swallow it 

fully masticated minus the mess.

It bypasses my stomach,

and goes directly to my heart -- 

the first responder 

to come to the rescue of

my soul's digestion. 

I'm rereading Gregory Orr's book of poetry - How Beautiful the Beloved. I wipe tears away often, as in frequently, unaware of the reason why I'm crying. Sacred places are often found in and on pages. 


The English often have "digestives" with their tea. I've always been fascinated with this idea. What criteria makes a cookie/biscuit a digestive, I wonder? Books are my digestives...... with tea, of course. 

Kissing

Loverby, 

how do you know 

exactly when

I'm craving one more kiss? Is 

there a magnetic pull from my 

eyes or do 

my lips ask, inviting?

Do you translate the tilt of my chin

as permission or boldness? 

Loverby,

 I read once that women 

who continue

to enjoy kissing 

way past middle age

keep plush

and luscious lips way into

old age, and give smiles 

that send everyone in

the world spinning.

Loverby, thank you 

for giving me a reason 

to smile.

 Keep bending your

dear head and shoulders

down toward me 

to catch and capture and kiss 

my wanton willingness. 

Bright Wood

This bright wood he built with 

only her in mind. It waited hitched

to a pair of horses for her to ride 

shotgun beside him into the future 

on their wedding night. 

This bright wood -- carved and 

and painted with gingerbread --

colors and details the dreams he 

attempted while trying to persuade 

her and the butterflies to remain.  

This bright wood stays shaded 

under a tree heavy with pears

close by the barren plans they made

together before she was laid 

down in the ground alone.

Kayaking

Sitting inches from warm river water
I paddle against the current. Pulling
and scraping bottom I dock to climb
stone terraces where water spills
laughing into black pools below.
Sun echoes off  walls smoothed
and sculpted by wind. Hundreds
of years worth of wind still scribing
away hard edges. I want to lay my
cheek against the firm bulges
above me.

Dry wind peels. Howling wind
scrapes. Wet wind makes walls
weep. Hot wind sucks dry. Driven
wind crumbles. Swirling wind
tumbles odd sections away forming
castle fortress parapets.

Now comes a caressing wind that
pursues until the rocks and I both
splay our inward parts wide open.
Left cleft, without scars or a hint of
being forced, I wait for water to
gush and green things to sprout
from here.

Fireworks

Carnations and dahlias

flare straight up, hot,

dripping fire - fierce at first

then fading harmless

before one final burst.

This is how my heart

feels - lit up by an invisible punk,

a breathing coal sharing heat, flaming

my waiting awake.

I'm ready to glow, ready to trace

hints and clues left by the last

one who set the night ablaze.

Here I go. Catch me if you

want to burn. 

Sleepover

I was six, potty trained
many years when I surprised
myself and everyone else by
wetting my pants, wrecking
long laid plans for
an overnighter.

What young boy
curious to
be a man
would want
to try
to enter
that?

I came home for clean clothes
and stayed. I also stayed
ashamed, but came away
from that night intact.

Orcas Love Life

We have lived close to the Puget Sound for many years. Just this weekend we finally saw our resident Orca pods when we were camping out on Orcas Island, one of the San Juan Islands in the Sound.

I stopped taking pictures, because I was missing the fun. Missing the magical moments. One of the females has a black heart framing the entry to her promiscuous parts on her white belly. They are all named. The captains and locals who care, know them by the colors and patterns on their saddles and the shape of their dorsal fin. When they die, they disappear. The family is ruled by a matriarch. They stay together for life.

They are tactile and often touch each other with their fins and lie belly to belly even when not breeding.  They roll around and caress each other, smiling all the while.

The things they like most to do are eat, breed, and sleep. In that order. Whatever time is left over, they spend being curious, and playful. Shouldn't we?