the.distance.

i told her we probably knew each other 30 or 40 years ago before i souls became adjusted to their new lives.
our old lives seem to line up perfectly.
there is something about the outfits she wears that catches my eye - matches my fly.

but she's far.
there are moons between us.
i often catch the moon before she does, giving her a heads up of it's light.
i've sat in my window sill for hours hoping she'd get the right light for her art.

i reach into my pockets past the dryer lint and pull out my last few compliments to give her.
she pays me back with pictures of beauty taken on junk piles.

one day - when the distance between us aren't so great - we will be.
we've learned to love differently.

there has to be a story of our ancestors we have yet to hear.
a story about a woman with a chalk rock creating immortal life with her heart.
a story about a man with a muse writing her into forever.

the story we have yet to hear.

we build a bridge to bring the moon closer.
and we walk.

i want to kidnap her like poets do.
there are road sides with no footprints.
there are photographs that have not been taken and poems that have not been written.

so we walk a few miles and meet in the middle:

26 W Adams St

Crossville, TN

they sell hot wings and lemonade.
that's the middle.

and we'll pull over on the side of the road.
i'll start telling you why the sky sometimes turns red...
and you'll take the picture.


and the distance will no longer exist.

photo by: april nicole: (http://myspace.com/niksteezy) (http://theartsydawl.blogspot.com)

i.welcomed.her.home

last night i welcomed her home.

she left her shoes at the door and her pride on the stoop before coming in.
i hung my pride up beside the summer jacket i knew i wouldn't be wearing for a while.
i longed for the foolishness to be done.

all communication up to now lived in our palms as we checked old text messages and the new alerts.

she was beautiful.
and we had yet to make eye contact or so much as a sneeze.

she doubled up on my basketball shorts and wore my tank top under the white tshirt i had given her five months ago when i wore hanae mori cologne and showered with irish springs with aloe.
i could still smell the younger me on her.

she was beautiful.

her thumbs moved fast across the qwerty keyboard and my eyes moved faster across her being.

'so...i missed you.'
she looked up.
what the fuck was i saying?
i don't miss people.

i'd sooner bite through that skin that lives between the pointer finger and the thumb than confess a longing for anyone.
but shit, this was the type of longing that went further south than the heart.
this was the type that managed to build a fort in one's groins.
shit!

and she smiled.

and as much as i hate the fact that the sun disappears at 5:00pm it didn't seem to bother me anymore.
i now found more time to enjoy laying in a bed with the remote on the floor and my fingertips creating a maze between the strands of hair she promised to grow so i could grab.

and between the last few bites of baked sweet potatoes and the first few minutes of a massaging shower
we found ourselves omitting all fuck-ups we caused in madness.

and with paid programming happening in front of us and the remote too far
we lay there in satisfaction
but no words.

i missed her.

so last night i welcomed her home.