Muddy Soles: A Conversation Piece

Step One: Contact

  "And in that internal explanation
the only answer I have
is that she was the moon"

 My senses are assaulted as I snap back and forth between reality and dreamscapes. Standing on a beach, I look around me and all I see is muted darkness. The water is black, the sand is grey. I am still in color. A familiar voice is shouting in the distance, "Let go!" This is a person I know. This is a person I haven't seen or heard from in years. This is a person I know doesn't like me. I'm dreaming. A flash of white behind me. I turn around to see the sky in a calendar. The number three stands out to me. a circle forms around the date I've been staring and a word appears, "her". The sky returns to an almost black shade with this circle staring me in the face. "3 her", it says.  I open my eyes to the sun shining. This is real. The first words I can think of fall from my lips and crash as wet spots on my blankets. "She is the moon."
 Four times today I have slept. This is unnatural.

Dancing Smoke

My stream of conscious lately
has been nothing but you.
Your touch, your kiss.
There has to be more
than just this.
There has to be
a future.

Industrial Playground

"I love you"
was washing the mud
off of your back.
"I love you"
was in every deep kiss
that we shared
under the warm rinse
of your shower.
"I love you"
was written on your body
in both scratches
and silent finger traces.
"I need you"
was the way I looked at you
when I woke up in your bed again
despite the danger.