Poetry
Jeanna Stegman
Proximity
I'm walking around with a half-lit cigarette
worlds fumbling inside my head
synchronized to the salt taste
my love delivers.
Deepening sky into purple night,
I pause to see my hands
reddened with the madness of aging.
I am not flowing Rather skittish is the nature
of my world of words.
Ashen is my passion
long ago burnt and unforgiving
Yesterday I lusted
with crimson lipstick
and complexity sweating out my pores
in drops of petty poetry
and summertime glades.
Swinging through the gate
of a picket fene
Moon slung low
My heart ablaze
with the proximity of the hunt.
