Featured Posts

I'm busy working on my blog posts. Watch this space!

Please reload

Recent Posts

July 1, 2019

July 1, 2019

July 1, 2019

June 15, 2019

April 7, 2019

March 13, 2019

February 9, 2019

Please reload

Search By Tags
Follow Us
  • Facebook Classic
  • Twitter Classic
  • Google Classic

Rush Hour

December 22, 2017

 

Morning-stuck
like mucus in my throat,
awoke to the sound
of sheets, no wind,
no skin next to me,
just storm-gray
where you lay.

 

I open a window.
The world is a limbo
of falling white,
streaks of night-dark
a monster once mowed
to clear the roads
of ling’ring snow.

 

It’s too cold.
No comforter
warm enough
to quell the hush
of country rush-hour
thumbing through
my thoughts of you.

 

Even if I wish,
wipe my eyes
left to right and left
the window closed,
the picture stays:
You depart.
I descend.

 

But you remain,
frozen through the sun,
conjuring a corona
that captures the trees,
topples the buildings,
swallows the flames,
and buries me still.

 

Back to bed with me.
Rush hour is forever
a slush of grit, gravel.
My only comfort:
The plush bear
resting on the pillow,
once and never will,

yours.

Please reload

Ryan Oliveira

Ideas.  I'm full of them.

This site was designed with the
.com
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now