DreamingShe twists and twinesDreaming in Free Verse More Like This
her tiny fingers in my hair,
wiggling and weaving
a magic spell there.
A daughter's spell.
Casting dreams to be born
behind her mother's eyes
leading them down the path of truth
never paved in lies.
Her eyes close with sleep
and her fingers go slack.
What do you dream, heart of mine?
Simple things I hope-
crayons and a cat of white
butterflies and books
a flower garden with bees in flight.
Is that too much for a mother to ask?
As her tiny hand slips from my hair,
I silently ask other things
wondering what tomorrow brings.
Who will you be?
Will you wear white?
Can we count more smiles than tears?
Have I raised you to be strong enough?
(this world can be brutal)
Have I taught you compassion? Acceptance? Empathy?
Do you know you are valuable, worthy of love and beautiful?
Have I done enough?
As if in the middle of a raging storm
selfish fears and thoughts crowd in
(Have I mentioned m
Loss of MemoryI forgot.Loss of Memory in Free Verse More Like This
It is a tragedy that I failed to remember
just how fond I am of the naked,
waiting space on a man's neck
where his clavicle meets his throat.
It is just perfect for my mouth.
I can run my imagination, and my tongue,
along the inflexible structure under the skin
delicately sink the flexible tip
into the shadowy curve behind it.
The slight tang and salty flavor
of his warm, now wet skin under my mouth-
I forgot how good it tastes, how superb it smells-
as I pursue the rest of his body with the restless
press of mine.