Picture

He took a picture of me
as I crouched precariously close to a stream
or improbably pretty swamp
taking pictures of small frogs

and all I can figure
is that he finds me especially beautiful
when I forget myself and simply am myself
spreading my whims like wings

like how he smiled in the moonlight with the magick of myths and fairytales
the time I chased a prehistoric sized moth
across a parking lot and into the grass
dancing unabashedly through the spotlight of his headlights.

Perfect Summer

This is the perfect summer.


Thanks to the grace of the universal plotline
some decisive dedication on my part
and my budding instinct
for knowing a good thing when I see it
my days are being savored in the sunshine
in the grass
indulging my whims
smiling in God.


Honey drenched afternoons
evenings
late nights and headspace
are taken up with you
with us
windblown hair
delirious laughter
and all array of music loudly coaxing us.


Our time could accurately be measured
in the spins of your various odometers across the years
if we cared to spend a moment counting.
And why waste a moment counting
when there are back porches to sit on
slaughtering sci-fi swarms of mosquitos
sharing our tales and inner workings
smiling into each other's eyes
until the darkness
finally leaves us
with only our fingers entwined.

Wind

The breze blew in
like the hot wet kiss of a brewing storm
stirring your cologne
as I lay against your chest
with something
maybe
playing on the stereo
but it was drowned out
by my cheek against you
and the wind blowing kisses
that rolled your cologne
which clung to me even later
and I relished.