In September the geese will fly south, migrate birds
and so will he.
But for now, we talk with our irises
telling stories through lashes raw and unfolded
like this one time I was riding the T in summer heat and
I, I, I, I like you.
Laying in limbo with eyelids half full of lullabies
we lick freely. Touching the backside
of memories. Tongues lit and alive.
Memories we have yet to discover.
Pupils open, we speak tales
uncovering childhoods in green eye speckles
molding longing with our tear ducts
holding weight in the air between us.
Taking in the gold and amber of a fall
too closely coming ( a colorblind autumn is born).
In September, the geese will fly south
but for now we talk with our irises.
Mountain Magic
Filed under Poetry
Hi Lynden,I know just what you mean about being homesick for the scent of luciosus Lilacs! I still remember playing in my Grandma’s lilacs. I would play all day in those lovely blooms. When my Mom asked where I was, my Grandparents would always say, did you check the Lilacs? I hope my Lilacs will some day produce enough blooms to do something like you did for your family, to wake up to the heady scent of Lilacs all through your home… wow, thank you for sharing such an awesome memory.
I will stop by your blog soon!
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