biding my tide

The soft plump of goats milk pushes back against my lips. I did not expect this. Is it the wine that makes it so pleasing; after all, the two are a pairing. The skin is also dairy smooth; I had not thought about touching it until now. Do I like this buttery softness? I cannot help but melt a little beneath its weight, incredulously. I think about exploring but instead I allow myself to be explored. I do not yet feel the need to journey the folds of that land, but rather, to let my body be the voyage. Whispers sail past my ears. How strangely my mind responds, laughing, curious, enticed. What happens to this ocean as I let the voyager attempt to navigate my waters. I let it all flow through me while the moon's silver sliver reflects upon my surface.

Geometry

Each day I pass the engines heaving in the rail yard. They are old bulldogs. Sometimes I get off at the station to listen to them sigh awhile. Though they are alive I never see them move, as if in perpetual preparation for a grand exodus. Or are they trapped and tormented beasts wheezing out there last days?

Some days I pass by, wishing I could feel the wind and hear their sighs. But the solid transparent portal holds me back, knowing that I might jump were it to open. Instead I watch, imagining their soft baritones.

I follow the tracks with my eyes. Below a man walks along them collecting what he considers valuable. I wish I could be down there with him, rooting through the urban decay. A junkyard of stories, watched over by sleepy bulldogs who can protect their treasure no more than I can free them.

The trains are left behind me and I am left watching the geometry of the monotonous graffiti bubble tags yearn for creative inspiration.