You are currently browsing the daily archive for April 7, 2011.
The dogs utter wistful snores in makeshift beds
As spring snow builds silent drifts behind warm glass.
A glass of Tequila warmed by my beach-weathered hands
On a Mexican night too many Septembers ago.
Moons past, we spent a September week loving each other
With reckless abandon, laughing, possessed, exploring boundaries.
We sluiced through jungles and explored the depth of bottles of Cuban rum,
Played doorman for Mayan gods who retaliated with red rage in the darkness.
Sunrise followed us home, but does not exist without the darkness,
Which consumed us for untold ages, consumes us still.
Waiting still as the spring snow builds silent drifts,
Waiting still for the warmth of rage to fade,
For the boundaries of darkness to ease,
For another September.