Would You Close the Blinds?

We awoke
to gentle, liquefied knocks
pleading our window
for entrance;
watched the drops
tear-up from rejection
only to be held with comfort
by the pane.

We caught the sun
peaking thru the shades again
as stealthily as children do;
tip-toe along the sheets
to steal glimpses of your smile.
You were always breathtaking
in morning blush,
so much that my lungs
would asphyxiate,
searching for ways
to enlarge its cage
just to breathe you in

So I pulled you in
closer than fractions
of milliseconds,
as if to exchange
my atoms for an eve
of your dimples,
these sheets for your skin;
or to ink your desires
on my nervous system,
til loving you
becomes a reflex too hard
to ignore.

When words become as anchors
too heavy to be spoken,
let’s cut the line
with our tongues;
eclipse the ellipse
between our lips
by taking sips
of each other’s.

Let us
abort the past
and deliver nothing
but more of ourselves,
our patience,
as presents left vacant
to be filled
with a dash of time,
worth a morning we both
could sleep in to.


Aspirations to Adhere

It’s 5:27 am
and this draft
wants nothing more
than to drag itself slowly
tap my shoulder
and whisper lies these
lost satin sheets
tell a little more subtly.
My hand
slides across the bed, blindly
in search of your skin
to splice with mine
only to find you
already gone.

The alarm
sets itself singing
to the tunes of nuisance
for the fourth time.
As the snooze in me drains
my adrenaline spikes;
the rush
is on.

By the time I get downstairs
my hair’s haphazardly parted,
my tie’s in more knots than it should be,
you’re drinking the last cup of coffee
and our daughter’s eating
“What in the world is that?!?”
I tell her to put it down,
hustle to the fridge and apparently
shelves are the only thing
on the breakfast menu.

You make a clever remark,
it catches me off guard
and our offensive words
are fencing unmasked,
suddenly hasting towards
a mate to check
as we hurl them off our chests.
The kitchen
has reached its melting point;
and our love
is quickly evaporating,
‘til all that remains
is wisps of what we once were.

Remembering our child’s presence
we pause
and assume adulthood again.
She’s kneeling on the chair
and her arms, like tender stems
seem to sway effortlessly
as she busies herself
with a puzzle.
Seizing our silence
she stops to say:
“When I grow up,
I want to be glue.”
Perplexed, we begin to see
the image emerge ‘neath her palms.
“I want to be
what holds these pieces together
forever and ever.”
Placing the last piece down,
she looks up at us
and smiles.
It was our marriage photo,
torn and bent,
seemingly un-mendable.
Taking each of our thumbs
she said,
“I want to be
what makes mommy and daddy
one big puzzle again.”