open palms, wet with
salt of sweat and tears,
reach out outside as
glass pane’s fog clears,
like a yearning new branch
of a house-caged vine
bending, sneaking,
reaching out for sun,
these palms, brined with
my excreted liquids stretch out
to feel the breath of
the cold December wind,
wishing this same
midnight breeze has
kissed your oh,
so, calm sleeping face.
in one brush of air, floating,
against my skin, waiting,
i can be with you,
at least.
A Reading Writer 
Ooohhh the waiting and longing on December…i can feel it in every syllable Rose..
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awww. thank you so so much for feeling my words, dear Mich! I hope this week will be amazing for you!
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Sister, thank you for your continued reading of my work. Your blog looks better and better. More importantly, your words are stronger with feeling and originality (originality in craft, that is–the feelings you express are always powerful). Phrases such as “glass pane’s fog” and “one brush of air” are wonderfully compelling. I hope you are really well. I continue to feel lousy, try to deal with it, try to get used to it. I write and post almost instinctively anymore and then get through the day as best I can. I hope your Advent is filled with blessings!
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Brother, I am so so happy to hear from you. I can feel the instinct of your poems on how they cascade. Effortlessly deep. Eloquently smooth. It is your trademark, perhaps. A very good one.
Thank you so much for visiting mine. Perhaps our poetry grows with time? 🙂
I pray for blessings for you, brother, (and energy?) Cheers! 😀
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