Three Minutes In

Three minutes in – I am a dream.
Have you ever been met
by a mirror? Twisted like
eyebrows in confusion.
Steel eye compartments
ready for battle.

Nail my head to the floor,
my only choice is to look up
to neighbors…
to enemies.

The minutes slice off the clock
as we talk – I am imaginary.
She sees me with her husband,
white t-shirt sucked to my
chest, wet from digestion –
I am the dark apple.

My bags are packed, my body
on 90 miles per hour.
The hidden highway – I carve three minutes in-
distressed almond skinny
dipping in shame.
Have you seen me today?
Have you looked in the mirror?

I Think Of You Every Day

It took only his few words in sight,
tied together on specks of dust,
sent to me on the back of July’s
thick breeze.

I stood as openly as my chest would allow,
reading his words from the hot pavement,
soaking in a fresh idea, feeling
his tone
settle deep in my ribs.

It is not an uncomfortable place for him,
for me,
unlike the others. He is a choice.
I gather his aromatic movement
like a lilac wedding bouquet and plant
his image between my special vessels
and skilled capillaries.

At first, years ago, when I kept my eyes
and cheeks naked, it
was not a choice. His parasitic words glued
themselves to my eager young ears, prepared to host.
Now though, his silvery voice is
passion fruit,
a red sweet juice that saturates me,
and it took only his few words sprawled
in the hot July pavement,

“I think of you every day.”