Un Corsé en el Azul

by Michael Tillery
(Philadelphia, PA)

I wanna playfully chase you on a guitar strewn beach before a tune is born and complacency is heard in the distant shade.

To be a wave searching for a myriad of subtle open doors...a common sand of the uncommon man. Never capsized...only fortified.

You are my sea of salt rhythm lost in what you are now reading...pleading to become the tide realistic. Current unrelenting.

A giggle of your eyes...a logical premonition behind your smile. The bird high. Hiding...free.

The one floating with chasing beach in mind...you are too sun blind to see.

The cascading stranger blurred by a pebble's inevitable ripple. Reason enough for the corset of sea to collide with its color and be strong to not evade what it should not flee.

The something in the whimsical thoughts summer destined for a not too futuristic starry night. A finite life ripe with evolutionary sight.

A calm for the fire before you. True to your bones so emotional...at home...useful even in blue.

There is a style...you know...in a team softened by a score keeper's porn never doused when conflicted...exclusive of game parameters when the roar of a seasonal crowd is no more.

Hope is never fearful of love. I challenge fear to become the respite you seek...ultimately to quell anger, frustration and far too premature resignation.

Love is not a game. It is cool sand beneath wanting souls pointed toward a life of compromise...centered around an all too grand connection.

Remember the pain. It keeps you sane when the dunes becomes pavement and only two remain.