The skies are starting to show the thunderstorm line is soon to arrive. High wispy clouds pull thinner, fail. Low, there, a mass of gray stone seep slow from behind tall oaks. 8:26
The low thunder rolls. Deep rumbles muted by the distance, growing bolder. 8:29
First lightening. Slight thread taught, pinned from cloud bellies, then cut free. 8:31
Day etched lines, marks, pins, float.
Dusk lit alphabets, numerals, tones.
If I lift my lids to see you,
and be lost.
This is where you sat, you ate.
Your lips on this glass, the chair dimpled from your warmth.
All the lights in heaven,
I’ll take yours back.
Earth, flat slides featherblown across the milkyway.
My dayfeet press flip inches from your nightslippers.
Pliant, we’re all tossed echoes.
Touch petal yearns touching more.
Lacely ode tone fingerworn sewn.
Backside runt dyes the ribfolds.
Cold stunts the color & cracks the mold.
August sold July to dime the dozen.
Magnolia bees put buns in the oven.
Slow lip blueberry napkin cakes.
Dighound plines a scrapbird snake.
Listened stones imbue the origin.
Bloodturns of the domedial, sunk.
As remember crows cry at faces,
all shot bullets are plumbed to pierced.
Thin rodeo wire keeps you moon,
in muted orbit girth expand.
Fated, you’ll once pull loose,
craze the oceans,
and loftly crash into Jupiter.
Slim oak switch cuts the sky a new horizon.
Hollowing dark rises, set pales down.
Gravel my fingers palm.
Pulted up for bats to dive on.
Earth geargrinds hums from within my pillow,
deeper than cloud high.
Imagining our together soil bones, sleeps.
The sun will ingest us all.