Bubbles
Bubbles in a boiling pot,
Second layer of skin.
Original color of hair, written in the
fine print.
Seeds of the fruit and popcorn in your teeth.
A splinter under your nail and
the tears choked down all the way to your
feet.
Secret loves
that we keep in the shoe boxes of our
hearts,
manifested in the hairs that prickle as we turn the corner.
Night sweats and belly button
phlegm,
this, the subconscious lives in.
I Am Muddy Puddles
I am
muddy puddles and flowers atop prickly cacti.
I hold onto
dog-eared pages and wine-soaked lips.
I feel my
clay encrusted feet and sandy bottoms.
I smell
the dust-covered romance novels and the spiders on the rose.
I wear
holey jeans and big, chocolaty smiles.
I see
melted candles and paint splotches.
I am
baby boogers, with a hint of mint.