of hair and hips
like beatings hearts
and the mindlessness of breathing
walking or jogging
and twisting my heart
taking my breath away
calling out to my bones
are there marching orders
for the springtime. . .
like clouds of pollen swarming
and trees swayed by warming wind. . .
like sleeveless shirts
and pants o so short. . .
like a sound track to the cycles
and dances of crisscrossing our planet. . .
i am left tapping out the rhythm
of my hands reaching for the swaying
curves of you waving waving to me
shoulder into arm ringed in tattoo. . .
where your thumb and finger meet. . .
the tightening of skin over ankle bone. . .
driving me to songs of longing
can you hear my fingertips calling you
playing air piano and drum calling