Ornaments

Words
          hang
                  in the space
between us,

shiny, unfinished sonnets.

Sometimes I ponder
plucking one out of the air,
gently placing it in your palm...


Instead

we sidestep, maneuver, shift our weight.

We pass small talk back and forth,
scraps of a conversation that was,
idle equities to fill the time.


Nothing between us has ever been small.

The Artist

He seemed to be made up of

bits of paper and color and cloth

arranged in a constellation...

more a soul than a man.

He ran my palm along his cheek,
the heat almost startling me –

a tactile proof of his existence,

a
    pause
               in space and time.

He left a trail of lights behind him,

a goodbye hanging in the air.

His laughter echoes in my ears,

a song, a poem, a punctuation,

a masterpiece of night.

Love, Unraveled

A tiny golden bird
flutters inside my chest.

My ribs rattle a tune,
an echo of unrest.

The cool fingertip breeze
trails my ivory breast

and beneath - sticky lies,
collected in a nest.