body

fairy tale

she loves the minutiae she spots

at places in your saga but

notices she is the only ghost with

all that brilliant depth

in your fairy tale about some other haunt -

more of your words

flow off of her antics her hair her self

when it is said to tell unrelated tales

why is it that the fable being fetched

from farthest sounds most sound

can you not fancy how your fiction

tells two stories even to the

unsuspecting innocents who do

not read between the lines?

was that squarely your intent

or are the miles of in between

lines just signs of your wiles?

she suspects you wanted to write her -

but your ink turned invisible after blue moons

of effort when cataclysm turned you into

both othello and ophelia until it became once

more the hand from the nib you dipped

into your sweet heart's gore -

you scribbled blood words that

turned into calligraphy and gospel

on another page she writes a

poem about your story of her

and when she has found shoes

that fit it she shakes the words

until they settle into the soles and

her heels stop chafing

where the skin has never healed

(it's four in the morning the end of december)

and her cool calm feet can walk

another mile in your shoes she

captain once more of your idiomatic heart

seasofme070513oceanswing

nearly healed, and it shows - every time i read it, this is what i think.