Cave People

Tonight in my nest of stones I have not slept.
Through the walls my neighbors fight over how
best to spend their time as it silently slips through
the space between their fingers.
As the last grains fall it seems reasonable to be
present for the hours left.
When the  dawn  climbs above the ocean I can see
that deep amber on the shore,  the color of
 my lover’s eyes when  aroused,  waning to hues
of   gold that glint  in my half empty glass.
In the unkempt night I rearrange decaying books
wander halls of memories pillaging my mind.



Trinette Reed photography



There is a bird whose wings

are the colors of rainbows.

When he grieves his song

is the sigh of sea spray.

His laughter is an aurora

of opulent verses that dripped

on my tongue drizzle like

honey into my veins.

We wade wide   rivers of light

and when he is thirsty he sips

dew from my feathers that are

dripping with his colors.

When adventure calls to us

we lift our wings and fly away.