An Advent of Sense

I can do grown up all by myself. Midnight pasta, midday Netflix. Maybe shave my legs I'm a big girl now. Go for a check-up, check my balance, Just tried Hot Yoga... self-help guru. Browse the farmer's market, burn the rice, smoke out my kitchenette. Hoards of fruit flies trash can hovering... Hate those motherfuckers. Phone tings, someone calling? ...Mom comments on Facebook. Daily grind, office shift, coffee run. Children starving in Africa and I'm faxing contracts. Have a drink, go to a gathering Pretend to laugh it off...no one has a sense of humor. Buy a gym membership--thanks Groupon. Buy a G--thanks co-worker. Smoke hanging out my apartment window... Eat until logic replaces boredom. Wanna go to trivia tonight? ...came in second! ...to last. Ha. Bye, see you at work. Go upstairs, sit on couch, A/C blows, TV clicks on. Write a poem. Feel better? Yeah, sort of. Call mom back. Love you too.

Kissing is like communicating. When you first begin conversing with someone, they are practically a stranger. The first several interactions are often laced with polite assertions and mild insecurity, perhaps even awkwardness. But past a certain point with this new friend, correspondence begins to grow fonder and more familiar--they begin to adjust to one another's specific love language--their way of communicating their emotions. The unsuredness and consequent excitement that occurs at the beginning of these conversations that lasts for the entirety of a relationship grows into something different but no less positive. It becomes comforting and pleasurable to "communicate" with this person. It becomes a reminder that they are supported, loved, and thoroughly enjoyed. Exchanging a kiss, whether it be a sweet smooch or a prolonged passionate pucker, there is a message sent and received. I love you, I need you in mu life, and I respect you. Of course, this is particular to

Earth Children crawl the street Like caterpillars in summer heat. Chanting worship in an unknown tongue Like they've forgotten the drummer's beat. Pipes sing smoke in a gypsy's tune Earth Children, come commune. Take this holy sacrament Your redeemer will be here soon. Summer 2014