Monday, August 30, 2010

Midnight poetry I

upon waking,
it is your face –

teeth white as sticky rice;
millimeters of rusty stubble
surrounding lips that burn white
fires wherever they touch my
skin, my heart, my soul; faint
etchings of dimples; boyish cheeks;
eyelashes long, blonde, covering
the sea of blue-green in which
I drown from time to time; one
visible ear with a silver ring
because you think you are so
badass, a nose noble as Tonto,
crooked as the Red Fork; feathers
of fair hair that I promised
you was not receding, yet, and
are those grey? no, it’s just
way the light is, baby, I swear;
the scar on your chin from a
run-in with a stop sign reminds
you that there is such a thing as
too old for skateboarding;
and a line creasing your
forehead as you concentrate
on another world (am I in it?) –

upon waking,
you smile
and the reflection of me
in your sleepy eyes
reminds me….
upon waking,
it is your face
that anchors me.

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