I feel your words against my skin
Your lips softly next to my ear
Spilling sentences down my neck
Across my shoulders and along my spine
I close my eyes and your voice remains a tracing
of letters written, and spoken by the heart
Carefully articulated or flung onto
the page like cursive and finger paint
Colors slide across the pages
Words trickle down my arms and get caught like dew
in the creases of my elbows
Loosening, they roll to the tips of my fingers
Dripping off each untrimmed fingernail
To rest carefully
on my lap
Floating letters forming
in the space between my knees

With armor on, no light gets through

Why should I remove the tears
as they race down my face
For fear of being seen
broken open?
Wiping away those moisture beads
smearing them across check bones
Leave tracks of salt on my skin
to shimmer in the sun

Procrastination can be productive too, at times...

Well chick, chick and a bottle of
BOOM!
Get off my hot pants and I'll leave with some room
to           b r e a t h
 life out and I'll catch the ride
on your hot air balloon
watching heat waves off the pavement
of my stale brain
workin circles 'round the corner
              just tryin' to ern a dollar
give the kid a break
he's only half your height
and the answer is YES
   don't ya know
to all things
Not HOW or WHY or WHO cares
if you're stuck between a rock and hard place
      it's not their space to SQUEEZE the living life out of ya--
unless you ask them for the time and
they turn around waiting on your pretty face for a smile
 or a flicker of Grace
Stop
Don't touch. That frying pan is
hot.