unfinished (a haiku)
She is unfinished.
I do not know all she needs.
(I am listening.)
A Blessing
May your voice be heard in its fullness, dear reader.
reading her my poetry about a man with a swagger ‘neath red flame chandeliers (and comparing notes) circular narratives about life and gypsies and making sense of men (and ourselves) a text to her lover in a moment of mischief fueled with red wine (and some flirting) “I think she’s trying to get me drunk,”…
I’m writing this to just get it out. To put it down. I found a smattering of random notes in my writing desk. There are pages and pages of observations. I’m putting them here because I think maybe there is a theme but I may only find it by sharing. I also don’t want to…