Verbatim

Every January I wake up with that feeling Of wanting to be new I squeeze into soft curves Wringing out any excess thoughts of you Clinging to me like bad breath After a morning cigarette When you used to be my fix Now all that remains between us is brokenness An ache in my head where clouds used to be Pit in the place of butterflies Hard to believe you were everything to me once upon a time Now I don’t even think you could recognize  me as more than a passerby 🌑 

I watch my son on the playground Relishing in the joy of these children experiencing existence for the first time Moved by the dimensional parallels between all stages of life A little girl falls, gets a scrape and cries A thirty-five-year-old woman wipes a tear from her eyes  Recalling reveries from when her world was young

Perhaps foreplay is simply a kiss of sun against honey skin and the fractured mahogany of your irises Foreplay is seeing me in rose-tinted lips and a bed of curls Running fingers through thoughts and daydreams and the curve of your smile