A Single Grain of Sand

A single grain of sand,
with its diameter of width, multiplied by the height, and divided by the length,
just landed squarely in my hand.

She fell gently and perfectly in tune with the wind's guidance, and without even a small moment of doubt, she found the groove of my skin to claim as her own. 

Light glimmers and shimmers in between her dance, her essence, and her weightlessness, while my skin finds comfort in this Tango of sorts. 

We have found one another's love in our weightlessness, solidarity, and unknowingness to be anything else but present.

M.C. Davis

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The Sound of a Night Sky

the sound of a night sky will often speak in chromatic tones,

whispers and tones only ancestors get to respond to, or the faint whispers that carry us beyond the story.

see, this is the wisdom where love, consciousness, and how we became a thing reside.

this romantic noise of sorts.

If you did not know, the sound of a night sky is elusive, faint, and redecorates time into what is is, from what was is, and what the future thinks is is.

these series of nows.

let’s see where this night sky takes us,

in between these chromatic notes and into Nikki’s world, where the most beautiful adjectives describe other beautiful adjectives,

and carefully dismisses the need to layer on too many fractions in between our love.

M.C. Davis

Oh, My.

A Native
man sings the
language
of the Earth,
while
others
scorn
his
choice of words,
improvising his sentence structure,
and
deflowering
the
chase of his
verbs.
We’re in
a
pause of
sorts,
shifting
in between the noise
of
what we’re
feeling,
vice the chaos
that
begins
every
musical
note.

This pause.

See,
we pause
because we
don’t have access
to
our own voice,
the
lip service of sainthood,
and
the days
blend
together like
a whisper
behind
another
whisper.

Oh, my.
Oh, my.

How did we get here
if we’ve
never asked
for
directions?

How did we get
so lost
if we created
of all of the angles?

Oh, my.
Oh, my.

See,
we pause
because we
don’t have access
to
our own voice,
and
we let the
days
get away from us
like
they’re owed
to us.

Oh, my.
Oh, my.

M.C. Davis

A Little Bit Comforting

Underneath
all
of the layers,
you
exist in fragments,
falling
delicately
into
pieces
that swan
dive
into
themselves,
like Olympians
do
who
form
the
most perfect
picture
that
we both
can agree
upon.
I feel like
we’re
just
getting started,
but
all
we
need
is a little bit of
comforting
from the moments
that
truly
define us.
We’re returning
to
center,
so
let’s just
figure out
the
rest
later.

M.C. Davis