There is no indecision.

Just the untangling of hair

you manage to do so elegantly

just as your door rises akimbo to the air.


The clang of chain takes a crack

at chipping away your softness,

but nothing can touch you.


You graft to my pupil; that absence of fear

swimming in your eyes; sailing on your skin

to a gentler harbour.


Urban cowboy – smile a tripwire.

Some mornings you are quiet in stare,

cutting a lonely figure, looking past what is in front of you

(restless rivers run deep)

and there are days your body lopes,

moving around all limber like you’ve just walked out of the ocean,

having washed away time-worn algorithms

by holding your breath under water until the panic becomes peace.




The heels of my boots skip across asphalt to cross the road.

Stain my neck with your wine soaked mouth, pour milk into my coffee,

hoist me onto the table in the cantina –

layering up my skirt and ruining my finery.


Do you sell boxfuls of faith?

Because you’re almost here, but just about gone.

Or do I kiss you from a tree, sticky with pregnant fruit

only to fall into your ripened hands?

19 thoughts on “Providore

      1. 🙂 xoxoxo

        Remember the words of a very wise woman: “When I’m good, I’m very very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.” -Mae West


      2. Ah, Ms. West 🙂 I like the adage of ‘You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.’ She was siren both on screen and off xoxo


  1. I was literally starting to sway side to side (you did use water) as I was scrolling down and then pop!

    And a sudden craving for fruit and coffee. o.O


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