her sleeve

she would carry
his scent upon her wrist
of soft washed linen
and Burberry

her sleeved was stained
with him

he, a tulip petal,
had landed in her hand,
she wished she
could forever hold

but the merciless wind
would not allow it

and now her tulip
grows in someone
else's yard

cookies

i remembered to read today
and the pages felt real
in stark contrast
to the computer that I sit at

the book is soulful
knows its purpose
tells its story without needing a
pop up
or to steal a cookie from me

and I really do love
to hold a book
while sipping tea
and having a cookie

to be read to

the best thing I've heard today-

my children had so much fun
buying books

and even better
that they love to read
and you
read to them, built that love

like a bookshelf
carefully stacked, dusted,
and tended to

always reminded that
he was beautiful
and words could
save him

be kind

the raindrop that shifts
the winds of the ocean is the proof
that one small act
can alter the course
of the earth

behind you

the lady walks
on tippie toes
no one hears her
as she goes

cloaked in grey
under the clouds
her silent steps
becoming loud

the door it creaks
from its weathered core
she closes it
he begs for more

the lady leaves
no fingerprints behind
her brilliant gloves
you will not find

she is

he is tussled and torn -
all over rustled like
auburn autumn leaves
jumped in daily

the bottom is not empty
or dangerous either
mostly soft ...
a bit loud when fed
too much

he waits, quiet...his lips
quiver a little
when she opens the door

like  a gremlin
she might become evil
at midnight
without warning

it won't be worth
putting up a fight

her ribbons are boas
her legs a long abyss
innocent eyes entrance
the unwitting onlooker

she is quicksand

it will be easier to give in

blue haiku

the heavy cloud
shrouds the sunset and weeps
until sunrise