Monday, April 27, 2020

Breath slips over the bend of my bottom lip and swiftly
unfurls into the space above my kitchen-table-desk
setting little bits of me-stuff about, dancing their ways
around Shift keys, paper days and the spatulas beyond,
an invisible do-si-do. 

There’s no knowing these days
if those twirling air-bits — mine and now no longer mine — 
hold dangerous potential, some villainous plot afoot
to take up drying dishes and tango them half to death
with lecherous delight, or if childlike they flit and flop.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week