Pickle Jar Karma

Pickle Jar Karma

Today I’ll sit right in the middle of it,

in the thick, dense, lush bustle of love.

It does not do me any good

to exist on the periphery of this one.

Feel the pulse of my heart beat

as it runs through your finger tips

and turns your lips the richest mix

of red and pink. Forget all future things;

now is for sinking into our spirits,

the way yours sparkles through your eyes

and I’ve lost all doubt in universal signs,

spellbound in this spotlight for as long as it shines.

You’ve conjured up an aura that preoccupies my mind

with fascination for how the chapters in our stories

might use the time these bodies

find themselves writing the same lines

on the same side of the page.

Amaranthine

Amaranthine

Half asleep, your lips dance from the palm of my hand to the tips of my fingers, then tucked under your cheek. You breathe deeply, soaking contentment into the pillow with three words on the outbreath and air I can feel.

I will stay here, sixty minutes spent in stillness but tuned in to every twitch.

I could stay here, write an essay from the ink on your skin.

Can I stay here, somewhere I can keep this?