Skeletal hand...
Waving at me...
Already you know me: the caffeinated
and the one
who likes walks where only the trees and God sees…
Thinking of the blue jeans He chose for you: faded acid wash
or really crisp like a business woman on Fridays…
What if I forget your raincoat on
days when the sky so fills?
So then I have to rest you under
the grooves of my flesh hands?
A tumble onto the concrete, but perhaps
in the cracks there are flowers there…
