Hitchhiking the Coast Road HomeBlistered feet
the rarity of cars and clouds,
a pawnshop by the beach,
where landlocked surfboards stand
like the colored teeth of giants.
Passing another small town church,
my thumb is up,
arm horizontal in the daily prayer of the hitchhiker,
an Ibis bird sits alone on the church steps
its soft dirty wings,
recall the oceans stained waves.
By the Town Hall, an old New Age shop,
dolphins in the window,
swim in pools
of ceramic dust.
I have you to thank for the breeze
at my back,
the religion around my neck
the salt that fills my nostrils,
the morning that will come.
I'll walk past a thousand
of these churches
to pray at your feet,
I'll keep walking each day,
and each day after that,
towards everything you are,
towards the place that holds the memory
of who we use to be.
Telltale BodyYour arms protect me like
a cover, to hold together
the story only you can read.
I love how the evening breeze
turns my hair like pages, when I'm lying between
your sleeping figure and the open window;
and how these moles apparently scattered at random
are the dots you'll have to connect,
clues to help you find the page
you had last read.
Our story's title, my love
I left resting on your ribcage;
its gilded letters stick out
like my spine's vertebrae,
when I'm curled up against you
and our heartbeats sync in acknowledgement.
I can almost see them,
each curve and depression of my telltale body
shape of a climax my toes whisper of often;
and these ears, they are a bookmark
for the verses you like going back to.
Read me like a book, beautiful
I've been mistreated and torn, yet
that's what a story needs to feel true;
underline your favourite paragraphs with trails
of kisses and chills, warm
my cold parchment with your hands, and
keep me in you heart forever.