A Land Without Boundaries…
There is a stretch of Interstate 85 that reeks of dog food
the concrete slab factory interrupting the skeletal black of the trees.
I beat the sun to dawn; savor the twilight, the openness
rain-slicken road invites me to keep moving forward
I don’t need the invitation, never have. I am wired:
antsy; muscles coiling and uncoiling, waiting for movement—to pounce
waiting for the space to run.
Boundaries
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She wakes me with teeth dancing my collarbone
mouths 'good morning' against my breasts
blinded by daybreak my fingers read her curves like braille
she interprets a moan to mean 'more'.
