Unpressed

Thank goodness you found me -
dehydrated, flat, suffering

from a homesickness,
I didn't realize was for you.

I slipped from the page into your lap,
delicate, winter-faded.

You kissed the sleep from my eyes,
unpressed papery petals

with elsewhere hands,
watched me bloom.

tk, from my second chapbook "Unpressed" 

R.A.D. makes my words his own...

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Come Upon Me

Come upon me by chance ―

almost touch me.

Inhale my smile.

Save my scarf in a jam jar.

Write me a sonnet ―

read it in dove sounds.

Never ask me to sing it ―

I may crack on the high notes.

Promise to keep my grave ―

scrub the stone with a little brush.

Pick me some leaves.

Bring me pastrami on rye.

Trace the shape of my hand.

Memorize each fingertip.

Take care with the ring finger ―

it is the weakest.

tk/August 2013

Thank you to R.A.D. Stainforth for preserving my words with voice. (He's not really asleep here...)

Drawing Hands, 1948 by M. C. Escher

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Our Hands

Another beautiful read by R.A.D. Stainforth...

Our hands

tiptoe sideways,

crawl together like starfish,

grab ― entwine whole,

all fleshy-pretzel and rope,

androgynous knot

pulled from your pocket,

patiently ungloved

and vulnerable, to kiss

one besotted finger at a time.

tk/January 2013

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