The mind, a dormant stone

missing your pressence around my body; the dark and the everlasting light. 11pm walks through the city chasing the curves of sunset clouds and moonbeam peaking,  like your ruffled blouse. the ends of your alleys make me sore, feet caressing every needle, every marble stone, and all those faces meshing eyes, pattern my trotting absurdities. a smoke in the cleansing rain until i am washed into rescue, uncertain how the words will penetrate; travel the sound of swishing lips and damp tongues pulling and curling on time. always on time.  a tempo worth beating into your stalks; your finessed legs pressing, shoving me along deeper, to feel all of you, undressed in the mirror chanting, posing, holding in rapture.  bring me up once again, so i may never forget the taunting hum snapping back like rubber on your pleasant derriere.  jessica m wilson cardenas