Monday, February 1, 2021

Honeyed vision

hums of crickets join the air.

Your whistle dances on 

the tip of the sun’s edge. 

Today shall we trek

into the belly of the cloudlands?

Wherever we may land,

I know my voice will meet yours

and together they will tumble through 

the ears of the prairies and 

the ole running well.

Oh! How the daylight coos 

when dancing upon 

the blonde strands of your eyebrows.

As you strum the phone lines, 

I melt into the dawn of a spring day that 

are your fiery hazel eyes.

Spinning bike tires, the black hills, muddy lakes.

Diners, train rides, forests, gravel roads.

Barren fields, worn down roads, the edge of the earth.

You were there,

I was home. 

This poem was published in the "At the Love Shack" issue of Dwelling Literary.

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