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slow season #NaPoMo3

By April 4, 2013Blog

early this mornin
just after homemade dark coffee,
you drove me to playalinda beach
with your right hand on my left knee
and the other, limp wristed on the steerin wheel,
on our way from the bridge between the
highway and the hammock trail,
i soared half my body out the sunroof
with my arms spread wide, pelican-like,
open palms toward the blue topaz sky,
squinting at the sun grinning across my face
and the wind lashed against my breasts,
hissing across my shoulders,
my cheeks crumbling into tugs and tears of dimples,
and the road stretched endless for our tires
like a rolled out carpet of tar
for our love and the night before is but a blur
of you pulling your body away towards the edge of the bed,
us bickering into each other come new day
and we play like an ol’ josh white tune
coating mr. pirtle’s antique garage
warm, static, and full of bass
like someone speaking close to you
in a summertime pitch
of piedmont blues.