Heated Blankets

new adventures

I haven't written in a while. I think too many things are real. They are pressed so closely to my eyelids and I can't help but stare... but I have nothing to say. The heat needs to pass. So I can touch them and talk about the way they feel. I feel sharper in the cold. Today I am all heated blankets and thoughts. Trying to pass the time. When does my life start for real... and why am I now fake? Can you meet someone and instantly know the way their heart ticks... can that be confirmed the first time you lay your head on their chest? What is to say about timing... when is the right time to push the shutter... lay claim to it with your fingers... saying more with your mouth when no words come out. I wrote the tiniest of poems. I still need to figure it out.

They told me about the aftershock once,

between kisses on my eyes.

It won’t be as hard they said

You will still have a home.

This year is still shiny,

pennies in my hand.