I sit within the greening shade
of Your mountainous soul
and You soothe out the wrinkles
of this borrowed body,
mind and soul

I carefully lay down my words -
these stepping stones towards
our hearts - consciously placing
them in hopes of a sure
foundation instead of the

a domino affect

I seem to have

somehow, you've become
the unintentional gardener -
as you, unawares, prune
impatience from the vines
of my soul, and unknowingly
dig down to the bedrock
of my faith to tap into the
Root

I am more than concerned
with the fact that when I
open my mouth, will I cause
the earth to open up under
your feet, or will a whirlwind take
you up and away?

I am perhaps a little frightened
with the fact that if I
open my mouth, will I cause
information overload that
a circuit in your brain will fuse
and your brain will explode?

I am borderline perturbed
with the fact that I may
suck your entire life story
from your well presented cranium
in a matter of minutes, hours
and days? 

woman - you are Water
soft, soothing, calm
and cool, seep into
the cracks of his being
and move with his bones

woman - you are Earth
movable, malleable, meandering
and solid, vine into
the movement of his breath
and sync with his cells

woman - you are Air
invisible, inventive, invigorating
and fluid, encompass
the very stature of his presence
and abide in his motions

woman - you are Fire
warmth, warring, wondering
and passion, stay lit
within the very embers
of his soul

A tidal wave wants to bursts
forth from these lips and
consume the world around me,
a tsunami of words that will
drown and drench my reality
with a wanted possibility

But I dam these lips
to hold back the force
that wells and swells up
from the four corners
of my bones

and every time I want to speak
I close my lips and swallow...

I am part of a cycle of mothers
where neither taught each other
or me what it means to be WOMAN
I am patch-worked into this legacy
of lost identities of lost girls whose
bodies grew old but their inner child
cries in the corner of their hearts

silence - I am called to this vast
wordless expanse of a desert
where the wind gently touches
my heart's face, as a forest
where greens and browns
weave in and out of my soul

some would call it a dance
of awkwardness, that with
time either falls apart
or finds the rhythm
and jives

some would call it a hunt
where one is the hunter
and the other the prey,
though neither sexes
hold particular true
to either roles

some would call it a game
of peek a boo, I see you
but do you really see me?
until the game stops
and peeking into
souls begins