Jen Juice

Looking up in a telepathic window
Congregations of nomads and his and hers belt-loops
I see what I thought I would on a night like this
When I can’t see the way I knew it would be
And factoring in the daunting biopsies through
Late night phone calls and mattresses deflating
In synchronicity
It gets darker as the light fades…and all I see is moonlight
Gazing back at me
Through a window of the woman I’ve grown to be –
He and she shelters me like the caring eyes that shone
Lathering the clocks like a peacock feathering on his/her
Day of dust
Shadowboxing the blood red blanket of words
Laying across my lap like the feathered pen
I held at my parents’ wedding…..

This entry was posted on June 4, 2011 at 6:02 PM and is filed under Jencerpts.. with tags Looting, Poetry, Words. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.