missing it...

today it came from the mid-west he said... Chicago perhaps

last night it came from the rain, under the awning, inside my glass of wine, written on my blank pages, it came from France, actually it was whispered in my ear, from the breath of a mouth that spoke french with love... and in the morning it came from my heart as it danced across my skin, trickling in from my chipping white pained window...

and walking home this evening, it came from the park i sat in, the cafe i sipped from, the sidewalk i fled from, the train i missed, the mouth i wanted to kiss, the lonely street i wandered, and corner i smoked on, the doorway i stood in before i climbed my mountain home. and sitting here now, the same white window welcomes the skin of lovers its kisses, and oceans that carried it, the hands it held, eyes it missed, the doors it closed, the cracks that welcomed it, and the arms that needed it.

i close my eyes, and think of you, and hope the same breeze that expands my lungs with the deepest of breaths and fills my imagination with the wildest stories...came from your skin, from your window, from you.