Who Needs Sleep?

So I've been mostly writing prose lately - fantasy fiction, to be honest, but I haven't convinced myself that it's worth posting yet. Instead, for your consideration and criticism, I present these little nonsenses, which I admit are the product of too little sleep and too much late night coffee.

Notes

I keep all your notes, choke
Back the words that would pour
Across your skin in hunger if I could
Find the ink, but lost
Behind my voice, I edit out
The need, the thrush of yearning in
Unripe passionfruit on my tongue.

The words you leave, behind
The smiles I see their source, wistfully
Watching all the paths we find
To hide on; all the dust you brush
Off your shoes into my mouth,
Pulling me down your travels, eyes licking
All the holes you dug walking in ruts.

I keep all your notes, wash
My feet before I climb into bed;
You collect the grit from the drain, gently
Scooping up my craving
Escapes. In your cupped hands they are
Fruit to fill my vision, trickle
Love, the words you give me.

-------------------

Moving

She lay upon the roof and dreamt
Of movement, renewal in small packages,
Silently painting stars to follow;
Eyes peeled back, sky dry staring
Into the phoenix rising of the moon.

Her thoughts in the air, her body
Was a torpid leftover and she craved
The drifting grace of trees, planted
Deeper than she could push herself, but
Still their branches calmly rippled
Leaves without concern for permanance
Or worry about stagnation.

I am heavy.
So heavy.

She knew it was the fault of letting
Her mind forget her body.

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"obscene gerund" - doonesbury

"You're reality sir, is lies and balderdash, and I'm delighted to say I have no grasp of it whatsoever." - Baron Munchausen

[This message has been edited by Chilimuffin (edited August 11, 2000).]