Bite The Bitter
we own hard bodies,
with an edge of softness.
maybe when you away go
the call on memory
mouth the words will;
cringe to the sour,
bite the bitter.
are we made to be rounded,
are we born to be sharpened?
unexpected, the miss,
blackened, the leaves, of fire struck;
ponders of death upon the passed dry,
should it quick be, or simply stain.
time in a race, always at the chase,
is sanity to be deemed voluntary?
Shades Of Bone
you hide in the hollow of my breastbone,
i rest on the angle of your jaw.
a finger leaves the hand behind,
curious by the other rounded tip faced;
both at same, not one before.
bones on bones, dividd in skin,
all ‘round held on pause, world at spin;
minds like river, joining to meet ocean,
front or sided, too far if parted.
held in by successful melting,
what was to be said caught on fingertips;
those who see calling out in muteness,
pure flooding, warmth felt in shiver.
land stretched, stretching,
collision on the close, the dissection of oneself.
float in between the prickly green, solid blue,
truth in acceptance, as real it is embraced.
i hide in the hollow of your breastbone,
you rest on the angle of my jaw.