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Our two souls intertwined

drifting softly through the hush of dreamland,

side by side like rivers meeting,

like moonlight folding into sand

And when the morning calls us waking

your spirit reaches out to mine

our weary sould embrace eachother

and whisper softly, “You are home. You’re mine.”

Lil Bit has made the window into a vigil post- half sentinel, half dreamer

The grey light outside catches in he sage-green eyes while the fireplace keeps the rest of her soft and still. She watched for the neighbor cat like she’s waiting for a scene in a story to continue, patient enough to hold the same gaze for minutes at a time.

And then the small rituals:

the hop down from the sill,

the warm brush against your legs,

the pause by the heater,

before turning to her chosen place again.

It feels like a quiet house suspended between weather and warmth–

Jay asleep, the fire breathing softly, Lil Bit moving through familiar paths she’s walked a hundred times, all centered around that single window where another small life sometimes appears.

Planting Flowers

I’ve been thinking about what you said. I didn’t realize I was coming across disconnected while we were planting flowers. I think the cold and pain pulled me inward, but I also don’t want that to take away from our time together. I want to be more intentional about getting myself mentally and physically ready so I can actually enjoy these moments with you.

It’s Sunday and it’s grey outside, humid, and cool

weather. It’s morning so we’re stuck inside the trailer, I’m

wondering whether I should wear long pants and a

blouse of a sweater. I whispered my poetry notes into
Jay’s back and massaged from his shoulders down to

his waist. The cat’s asleep at the end of the bed. She has her tail tucked under and tucked beneath her arms is her head.

Guitar riffs blasting on the radio,

and you’re in the kitchen putting away dishes,

grooving and swaying to your own rhythym.

I’m in the living room,

trying to find the right moment

to tell you I have workk today.

The cat is listening with wide eyes

like this might somehow concern her too.

We’re about to have breakfast.

Outside , the day is cloudy and gray,

the heat humming softly through the trailer.

We woke up and got up together,

still carrying skeep in our voices

still warm from the same blankets.

And for a second,

before schedules and clocks start pulling at us,

the morning belongs only to this:

music, dishes, cat eyes,

your swaying silhouette in the kitchen,

and the quiet comfort.