Sleeping In

Poem for Round 7 of Slam '04

The grand illusion of mountains
meet the distant horizon
in hues of pink,
flames of chartruse sailing into
the whistling wind.
The prick of my soul's deep blood
softens into
impressions of your character.
Can't we hide in here,
sleeping in
watching the sun come up with
anticipation,
our bodies wrapped in the mist?
Voices with certain opinions tell
us we no longer need to feel hard
or evasive.
Your chest lifts to examine my
flirting eyes,
I know the healing you speak of.
I have a good clue to our
effusive game of baubles and wit,
swirling colorful emotions,
wheeling with time,
messages tuned out and on hold.
We have rest
in the volatile night,
now sleeping in,
nailing the coffins of our proud
existences down.