Let’s Chat Over Drinks

You know, to spill our guts. Lately, I’ve been feeling the need to talk. Let me tell you all of a very recent night by the river in the south with a lemon martini.

FYI: I’m open to responses. I’d like a conversation to grow at some point.

Do you ever stop midway while doing something and have a moment of epiphany? This is what happened the night at the Mississippi River. There I sat with my sister and her friend. Discussing taboo subjects. And it occurred to me how many people have exit from my life.

I’m not offended. I was, however, worried. Will I be left with no one to talk to? I’m on this journey learning how to connect with people. That’s one of the reasons I’m here typing to everyone who reads this. Ok, so I’ve found myself and I’m coming into my own. My question is: Is this normal?


In My Tree,

Owl

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Wet Wings

‚ÄčWet wings are drying

Someone should learn this scene

Ready hearts

Steady chatter

Listen as the cicada sings


The wind refuse to blow

While the laughter quietly leaves

Eaten by the eyes of the people

Peeling away a spirit at the seams


Break apart as it breaks the box

Not one of these souls hold to dreams

They instead claw at hope

Resting their woes inside of Keys

Poem: Keota Picou

I Miss You

All of you. That is what I miss. 

                                      A camera.

That is what I am to you.

                                      A pool.

Is what you created. 

                                      An ocean.

That is what resides in my heart.

                                       A current.

Inside of this mind.

                                       I kiss the wheels.   One more time

                                       For the road

In My Tree,

Owl

Photo source
                   
                                         

Let It Drip

Their prudent foot steps meet under a lamppost. But she wonders if the night’s breeze nudged her there. Any other night would have been easy, but neither of them are ready for the walk. He states a greeting to which she replies with diffidence. So he steps closer. With one inch inbetween them, a chill escapes her. He takes the traditional cue to hold her arms, bringing it into a hug. Familiar. 

She considers reaching for his throat to hold tight to. Instead, she caresses his nape. His sweet nothings slips into her ears. And she let’s them. She need it to hold on to, much like the embrace his gives in this moment. 

Let’s just kiss, She says.

And with that, she’s said all of what she needed to.

With instinct, looking into his flame like eyes, she licks his lips a part to kiss. The need to explain exactly how she feels becomes the single most important goal. She wonders how can he overstand her unless her core speaks? He returns it with passion. This kiss is wetter than usual. The taste of copper fills their mouths. She let’s go to watch his blood flow. 

Let it drip, he tells her.

So she watches his picture show. Tempted to fall back in, she glares at the drip flow.

In My Tree,

Owl

This Love. This Romance.

Rainy days are the best in my mind. There’s an abundance of peace and power that it brings. The ultimate balance. It reminds me of love and romance. 

This love, this romance is anything but normal. But I often wonder, Is love normal? 

Love, at times, hurts to the bone. Often from missing someone while they’re gone. Romance tickles the skin. Well, to me that’s how it feels. 

Rain also reminds me of the power of being single and free. Waking up with myself. Cupping my breasts then raking my fingers through my hair. I stretch within my satin sheets feeling every ounce of fulfillment. Feeling grateful for a peaceful rest. Waking up to Rain reminds me how amazing it feels to love myself.

A soothing storm. It’s home to me.

In My Tree,

Owl

Left Bound

Gamed out with My luck found

My karma is won

Didn’t I say this game is done

This game is done

My Power is found

I took the position to run

I tipped the crown

In this corner I’m left bound

Red flags and untruths drown

Keeping float of waves with familiar sounds

I killed the tie

And life moves on
In my tree,

Owl

Poetry by Keota Picou