Alphabet Soup Minuscule

Hudson Reece

Tomorrow We Will Run

In those moments offline .

 We are one.
Together we are bursting like a button around the waist at Thanksgiving.
We are bursting like a water balloon thrown on hot cement.

There isnt  full inclusion here.
Just you here. Me here.
I’d ask and You’d promise.
Me Quiet. You Hush.
Me wait.

And tomorrow we will run.
We will run steady in our plaid skirts.
Wearing our perfect plastic smiles.
Breathing in eachothers  sweat, and  licking the reluctance off your lips.

I’m off center knowing that,
There won’t be any pictures,
Any evidence of our memory making.

Our friends won’t know,
They won’t see, or smile at
 How happy we are offline.
How we love one another offline.

Only our minds, only the neurons sending those patchy files and images to different sections of the brains.
Leaving me again pained. 
Aching like a child with a leg cramp. 
Until I refuse to ache, share and ask anymore.

Offline. We are one.
And Happy.

Circular Movements 

I lay here watching my rose colored curtains dance. 
They dance slow,
They dance together,
As if they were lips touching for the first time.
As if they were fingers locking together for the first time.

Their bodies sway.
Up together.
Down together .
One slightly above the other,
Like the hip of a belly dancer.
Circular movements.

As I lay here.
Jealous in my head.
I desire to move,
To feel the wind move me too.
I wonder if I would listen hard enough,
Would I hear the music?
Would I begin to understand the lyrics?

Flowers in the Garden. 

Photo copyright of

We, we somehow molded like muffins in a closed container.

I, I sat back and observed the green fuzz around us bloom like carnations in March.

Taking, taking with it, our efficacy and our industry.

This growth blankets all this good with ignoble.

As if we were preparing for a frost in July, only to wake up to realize we have killed all the flowers in our garden.

Only to realize that we have to wait another year to plant,
To see and feel the color again.

When the summer is here,
and the flowers are dead.

We will only be left with the questions of,” if”.

There is no place here for closed containers and dead flowers.

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