the evening of

throwing on miles davis
and falling asleep with
make up on, sprawled
incongruently with the
bed on the floor.

the things that are most
difficult are usually the
most rewarding and i'm
remembering that.

it is hard to be a part of
something good that
other people in your life
will never know.
it is a hard thing.

i'm finding time to be
contemplative in the
rush of days.
it is a hard thing indeed.

blue in green
is singing swirling to me
and my silk flower rests
upon my back.

pillow talk
and exhaustion
cracking ankles
warm socks, bed lamp

oh miles, your trumpet
oh, heaven your skies
your miles of sky
the swirling singing music