in yearn for summer

...and not even the summer. I believe it was october, but in the painted desert october is still as it is, I assume, always, dressed in lavender, sage, coral, copper, vermilion, powder blue. In the dust, in the warm of a breeze, in the waiting is where I find myself, now. I know, it's february, and it's appreciated, please believe. But also, it is perfectly sunlit today, and for hours I've felt that gentle promise of a future filled. So without a doubt I know the glory of it! in idaho, a june or july & even a may fulfilled. All the things worth awaiting. Until, I've got a solid grasp. my feet in the sand, a heart filled, the creatures & soft flesh touches of the variants which curl up to make a smile or a sigh in me. As I've always said. The waiting & the patience make some worth.

because I am, where are you, too

And for you all. I know how you feel, the sums of you, like me. I require no addition. I refuse to upsell. I refuse the heart's upswell. It's swollen enough. It is full with lightening and smoke and the jam of some fruit going bad fast. The gel of my own enormity. The poems for all, the abrasive truth of them all, the disquieting arguments within a self, my drunken glory, in drunken revelry. Wanting a walk through the leaves, so many still covering the streets and street-scenes, marking october, punctuating my own private october happily. Wanting the walk through this litter all red and gold and old, crumpled, to see a recognizable face, and have you read me, yet? will you recognize me when you do? will we converse, is it possible... have you ever heard of it. The rustle, the slight birdsound at night, the wicked idaho shadows on garages and blue of earlynighttime sky. I am in love.