
P/C: Eric Puckett
Tessellations with our words
Dusty old Questions
Texas road dog at arrival. Belly out and full of butterflies. Tall backed and erect, nervously shuffling and poised outside of the white Tacoma.
Warm smile, tight hug
Smells like teen spirit.
The time hop of eleven years closes like the passenger door.
God those eyes. I wanted the eyes.
Whiskey shivers,
Warm skin and such green eyes.
Tiki mezcal and the overcoming urge of your mouth, your teeth,
Salt bubble bath and sinking into your tongue
4 1/2 hours at Nueva Laredo border permit parking lot.
Los Lobos. Sun. Rock.
Margaritas over a garbage fire.
Moonrise over the rock face, headlamp procession
Stars and over-exposed photos, trusting
the space[ ]between
more than in the past.
The razor’s edge of an explosion vs implosion.
Danced into this new year
Calmly watching from the epicenter of this blue wind.
I love it here. I love the way you speak. Your graceful intelligence and
soft way of confidently loving
Thank you for this trip. Thank you for knowing things that I have not been able to say. Thank you for the quiet indirect guidance, growth, the budding timid self-sabotaging human heart
I want this. I want all of you. To laugh in my bellybutton
Feel the breathe through it
Was feeling shaky in my confidence, helplessly watching questions rise and bubble with the home brew moonshine
Instead, I let it wash over me
let the cold seep in, opened my heart to it
What was left was something new. I knew that it would be ok
Knew that love is wind.
That this is wild.
Looking up I felt the earth of you, the swell of peace,
A familiar solid block spine of a book.
I love who you are
I adore it it a separate way of myself.
I want to make love to you in the way I see all of these parts and never, never forget
Your words are so wonderful and captivating like the opening scenes of a movie! Moving us along as you share the wonder through to the sweet ending!! Bellissimo, Jillian, Bellissimo!!
xoxoxo
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So many thank yous for this understanding and perspective. Fragmented snaps are a glimpse of something hard to say;)
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Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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