Monet Days

water lover

I know what you are like:

the horses, those wild mares

you step slowly from the shower,

tossing your mane down, concealing your head, your proud neck,

those Chincoteague ponies, straining free of the sea,

emerging, snort, and cast around, 

unable to see what all the fuss is about

Memory

You're gone, so tonight I'll just 

draw the nails of your memory across my back,

the furrows more exquisite in absence

I forget things

I forget things, and sometimes when I see you,

I hear silenceofrain, 

and I'm confused

when you press your sunbitten lips into mine,

what am I tasting?