October doors
are closing,
friendly apps
turned off.
November is beguiling.
My fingers curling
eager to be
keyboard warm.
NaNoWriMo looms
its challenge
fighting against
my PA plan.
Dangling
my internal
power cord,
a hypnotic STOP
watch shouts:
Time for me!
Warm drips melt
on my shoulders
falling down my arms
like dappled leaves
gently spilling sunshine.
Warmth can’t be cupped
cold and hard
like snowballs
forming a sheltering fort
to challenge you from.
Summer, you vixen,
my long distance love,
you have teased me again.
I ache for your taste,
your heat on my tongue.
I was twelve
a street away from a teen
when I stood in the rain
soaked to my skin.
It was one of those moments
you never forget
when you realize that the event
shouldn’t happen, but did.
I was looking across the street
and realized that my neighbor,
dry as a cactus,
was still in the sun.
It was a cloud over me,
but not him, and our street
was the dividing line
God drew in the sky.
I was sure angels were
forewarned not to cross
to the other side,
but I did.
It was that moment
I started on the road
to adulthood, brave enough
to challenge authority.
I was daring God
to bite me.