We’re
just a touch
away
from falling into
the
leaves,
as they marry
their
shades and color
choices,
and while
they
decide which day
to
land
so delicately to
the ground,
we’re like
a ballad,
loose
to the touch,
and full
of the
most sultry
of notes.
Like a
smoky jazz
quartet,
we’re
just a touch
away
from
our
final bar,
and
my love for
you
just
touched yours
without
asking for permission.
M.C. Davis
It’s
your move,
a dance
we share,
with our
own
syncopation,
abstract art,
and a few lines to memorize
for
our editorial debut.
See,
your move
is deliberate,
and
full of the things that
the
Gods approve;
and I am beyond words
at
the fact that
your move
becomes
my move,
even before
you
take
your first
breath.
M.C. Davis
Our moment
just
started,
in
between decimal points,
semicolons,
and a few
of our favorite
smiles.
Our moment
also
fills the space,
like
time does
after she’s found a
new measurement,
or
a day’s breeze
that follows
an
afternoon’s rest.
See,
our moment
is ours
because we’ve had
the
journey
in finding laughter
in
the same
things
that bring us
love.
Our moment is
ours
because even
poetry,
the kindness of
music,
and
the wave of the mountain
have to
stop and wait
for
our
next
glance.
M.C. Davis
Which
direction
leads me to
you,
west or east
or
some cardinal
place
in
between;
like semicolons
that
simmer in between
a few
clauses,
or
a moment of the
day
that
decides
to
shift into
darkness without
asking
the
stars
for permission.
Which direction
leads
me to
us,
and our life
that starts
and ends
like
bookends to stabilize
the
entire
bookshelf;
or
like a feeling
that gets
noticed
in
the most
perfect
tense.
See,
I’m
learning that
every direction
leads
me
to you,
since my
eyes are curated
for
the most
subtle
and
beautiful
of
things.
M.C. Davis
Show me your face,
skin
fragments divided
into
lines
that shift in between
the
laugh
and the frown,
telling a
story or two
of
where all the things
that
matter suddenly don’t.
Show me
the character
design,
where you get
to
stand without
crutches,
or without a permission
slip to walk
down
your
own hallway.
See,
I see poetry
on your face,
with letters that fill
in the
stanzas and
I’m
still writing
because
these eyes
simply can’t look
away.
M.C. Davis
When
we inspire each other,
we
fall into a
gentle breeze,
flexing airwaves and
letting
hair
follicles
dance
like the wind
never
existed.
We find inspiration,
facing
each other,
and arguing about
the
nuances
of
a
morning sunrise,
and
if
this inspiration
fills in our gaps,
we
are
arguably the
best people we
can
be.
M.C. Davis
Poets
get to examine
the
layers of
words,
dissection in between
the
feelings,
syllables,
and characters
that
blend without
being
told
to
do so.
Poets
also
feel out the
unspoken
gifts,
giving grace notes
to
the
unused
letters,
and
if they’re
lucky,
they
will get
the chance
to
grow into
the
words
toddlers
say.
See,
we poets
are
dreamers
and framers of
things,
so
let
this
poet fall back
into
place
without
too
much noise
from
the decimals
and
misunderstood
fractions.
M.C. Davis
