there's a picture of sunflowers, my favorite

by far. one 

leans apart from the bunch, rests

it's head on the wooden fence.

in my mind's eye, 

a visible sigh in it's face

it's posture affects --

and though time accelerates, 

there is still gold in the lines of my face,

some days    the light catches

and warmth Ihold in my pockets

for days like today, I drizzle it on my tongue. 

&my insides are wrapped in dusty glow

from eons before

I began to wilt

“Sometimes I can feel my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.” -- Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

for as much as I want to be wanted

, I want more
your cradling arms, your
pushagainst, small brush in passing
that sends a warmth crawling    up      my neck

as much as I am young & new
and pink and yellow just as bright as
a daisy! sometimes

I long, too
for the softness of longevity
like wind on my cheek, you

are almost all light, sometimes, I never
expected--

somedays, I'm sure the hue of your skin is
all filter, and I am just romanticizing,
as always

but the red in your beard is all the harshness in the world, sometimes.
and the sound of your laughter fills my head, echoes as if this small room
were an abandoned cathedral and

your voice
the first prayer heard in a hundred years.