Someone’s mist just
stumbled through the doorway.
No footprints, no strange
melodies echoed on frozen stairs.
Just an impression
left indelible, yet invisible.
These are not wise thoughts
to think of you. These are
Dangers, completely self-imposed.

We do not talk of tigers
in the cornfields down the road.
The tiger, you see, stays native
to it’s home in Wildest Africa,
and Furthest India, and certainly
not in the cornfields down the road.
Yet I speak of you,
and your mist ever stumbling,
and I know you to be here,
indelible, yet invisible.

Like a tiger in a cornfield.

life is better with friends
don’t you think?
no matter the type, or kind
the ones that live in the flesh
or the ones that go
down your throat
any friends are better than
none.

We thought we’d outrun the storm
only to find it waiting,
three hundred miles and three states
down the road,
with three hundred miles
of pent up fury,
and three hundred miles
of pent up rage,
ready and waiting
to beat and to batter,
to blind and to bruise,
to force us from our course,
to keep us from making it home.

they teach me it’s you i should learn
your insides and out.
but all i know is of your love for back rubs
and coffee
i can make you coffee each morning
(though often i forget)
and i can certainly try to rub your back
each day
but i wonder when it’s over
what i’m missing
in loving
in learning
to know much more than your
every curve
(a detail i assure you i can recite
perfectly from memory)

the learning process is certainly
not tedious, but rather daftly confusing
as i’m bewildered by why beer, donuts,
and me naked aren’t all you could
ever hope for.