Damsels
Kneel in submission
or don’t.
Some wounds are
too deep, so we hold on,
clinging to pasts that
no longer serve,
except when they do.
Damsels not so distressed,
but so stressed they lean in.
Fleeting moments
passively infiltrating
thoughts, inching and etching
purposely on purpose,
twisting visions of
a white knight
laying his jacket across
puddles
of fear and insecurity.
She forgets the power
to just leap.
Red Cloaks
Restless nights like
legs kicking at the tides
that flew by our way
when we kissed
the moon in its infinite
sunder.
This back and forth boon
is stark and heady.
My hungry soul
keeps grasping at
cardboard hearts with
windows so rickety you can
taste the dust
underneath their sills.
An ocean couldn’t
begin to quench this
hunger.
Hunger that burns
like a thousand sparks
igniting the sky.
We are held
suspended in bounds
fashioned from fables
of wolves and red cloaks.
Of hunters and prey.
The innocent and the knowing
dance under circles
of stars, inky black
and waiting for
the other to strike or
to lay down.
snowflakes & dew drops 