de mi devocion

Gushing is good.

I denied it every time I did it.

Tripping all over your feet and mine

Trying to find the common ground

Between the slippery edge and

That lost place where we can see eye to eye.

I want to ask, “What are you looking up at?”

Where do those dark eyes rest their gaze?

I use these and other criminal thoughts that wander into my sea salted brain

to see you running on the sand.