by Tim Tipton
You will be gone before I wake
I’m going to miss you.
Because that’s the way it goes.
I know your work, you are an escape artist.
If I tell you I love you
There goes my ride in the rocket
I will not chain myself to you, don’t worry.
Nothing dangerous will happen.
There will be no loving, I promise.
You are safe.
The sofa you sit on, the same
color as your eyes,
The way you blush reminds me of a
sunset on a hot late afternoon in Spring.
The sky burns intense red, eucalyptus
You slip off your red shirt like you
slip inside me, easy and fast.
Like a flame that consumes, then ignites me.
I am yours.
Searching For You
I am searching for you in April.
I am searching for you in California.
I am searching for you beneath a Cottonwood
tree rattling softly overhead.
I am searching for you on Red Wasatch glowing
in the night.
I am searching for you crossing through creeks
Traveling on sandy banks and smooth stones.
All I remember of you returns and in a flash
you are present in my mind‘s eye.
You are alive in Spring light into the winter
of all that is lost.
To fill my emptiness,
I search for you.