Travel Shorts

You forget
to remember
the quickening,
stiffening,
sickening
palpitations
and respirations
as you inhale
a memory.
Your cheeks burn
in anticipation
of the bobbing
head of the
coo cooing
at the pavement;
the margins between
you
and those before you
growing ever thin.
Thoughtful sidestep
avoiding the collide
of wing and face.
Her hair is moving
poetry. Like love
it won't be still.
It can't be tamed
and will never
behave.
It'll spit out on the tongues
of waves
and lift up into the
chorales of winds.
Unfettered
and alive.