The Smallest and Most Precise of Circles Felt

Breathe deep as
Fresh morning air fills grateful lungs
Spring rains on parched desert plains
My mind still fond to trace
Memories of hot breath on your soft sleeping neck
Fingers move through
Sharpened spines
To smooth cactus skin beneath
The space between

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Not Wild, Neither Frantic

Oh star ’round which I turn,
Don’t you know by now
That whilst I am captured by
Your luminescent gaze
You own me
But even washed in white
We cannot ever hope to remove
The intrinsic flurry of shadow life that resides behind
These azure eyes

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So Many Senses Through Which to Sift Sentiment

Inspired by the writing of Maggie Lawson, of the blog The Art of Chewing Crayons.

Original post at

Words, weightless, echo in cave carved in mountain hill side: a heart; a home; an amber chamber of sordid solitude unearthed and bore witness by all creation
Ears and eyes accustomed only to serving as guardians for a mouth full and choking, scalded still by its own tepid embers expelled to cool in calm but careless currents

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To the Light of an Unobstructed Star (Sol)

Born of the same flame
But not quite the same
No longer divided
The unparsed past
The uncertain future
Present in
The present
No longer trying to be
The source
Rather, a conduit for
Secondary light
Accepting this
Your will
Your beautiful face
Smiling once more

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