© 2002 by PJ Nights

I wish the words might fall from my lips
dizzy copters from autumn maples
unchecked by fear of flight     instead I
freeze / doe-startled / by your softest questions

kisses like *snowflakes* on shy lashes
forgive my inarticulate blushes     melt into
the fat drops of a tropical rain as they head
southward over the landscape of my body

your tongue finds the key on a scarlet ribbon
nestled warm between my breasts
answers unlocked     tiny animal whimpers

split the rosy guava / spill sun-splashed juices /
know me in places where words
need not be spoken


© 2002 by PJ Nights

“Wake up, my darling.” I sing your name,
catch it on my tongue to savor lemon
vowels and briny oysters, reminders
of clean sweat on skin. Morning light drips

through the fingers of a marble dryad in
the round, warm tones of a clarinet.
My wake-up call sounds again but half-
heartedly, lost as I am in the robin’s egg

blue of your breathing. You blink into
the day and a smile; ‘good morning’ brushes
past my cheeks on wings. I serve the night
before in steaming mugs and we sip

in silence, thinking of poems that brought
us here, ones that will let us say good bye.

Slow Trains Issue #4: Soup Sonnets