I remember the last time I existed. I was wearing striped pants & seated cross legged on a park bench in Western park, Ponsonby. My shift was over my blood circulating & I found myself, cross legged, on the edge of a rain storm.
My skin sits soft upon my hands hugs so gentle at the wrists dances clever at the collarbone up and up skin pours. On my winding staircase chin nose cheek bones drapes my sweetheart skin. The sun and my skin are friends. I and my skin are practicing.
I see the sea lap the rocks the streaky current pulsing sinuous but smooth & tall my breath is still & the wind is still— the wind is so still. My cross-legged legs are streaky pulsing currents the spine shaped by carpenters with bendy rulers I count on one hand all the thoughts I think— man that wind is so still. Cloudless skies … Read More Romance
All around me are circles flowers bird whistles the breeze is slow and yielding my skin is soft the air warm. In my sweater I am whole unsearching existence The fire that warms me is my own and long has gone unnoticed.