Beth (on the line)

My reaction to your face when I see it after a long night of journeys in far away dreamscapes could end world hunger.

My reaction to your face after a long day without its tired diligent lines and bright eyes could light the world for millennia.

I’m all in.

I put it all on Black Number Us.
Sink or swim, I’ll build a boat, by God.
I’ll build it out of my own skin.
I’ll frame it with my bones.

Nothing here is common or mundane. We have no textbook instructions. We’re writing it. We’ve poured it all out, day one. And the puddle still lies there. We may wonder. We may ask, “what were we thinking?” And the answer is always the same:

We weren’t
We were loving,
are loving,
pure,
distilled
unfettered
unafraid

Like a party that never ends and you never clean up after!

What a hot mess!

Rainy Days

The sound on the roof, like the susurrus the wind makes only softer, purple petrichor gently invades their senses.

They lie beneath the viney pergola. The offending garments have been exiled. They are a sacrilege in this holy place, when the warm heavens cast down, soft upon the greedy loam, its wet blessings.

They lie, as close as the air, these lovers twain. They dream, as gentle warm drops kiss their glistening flanks, the curve of their waists, the glide of their backs, their chrismed hair. They sigh, because words, unjust, vulgar, are unworthy to carry the precious wings on damp singing air.

The lovers, untwain now, fold self upon self, like electric filaments, like runnels, tumbling through the greedy loam.