Reading the Tides

my love(r). 
it seems the tide has left us
castaways.  adrift in each other's presence.  
we have the beach to ourselves. 
the southern sunset winds playing games with your hair.  now
the forests of mangroves - melt into a single undulating shape.
  suspended.   hammocks.  linger
and we too.  in them. 
   your skin is pastel, delicate. 
 hidden beneath the shadows
of passing clouds,  late.  afternoon sunlight falls itermittantly upon your face
and between your eyes.
 inspiration for the heart.
your fingers loosly brush. your cheeks blush
as I stroll
along. 
by the way.   your name looks lovely scrolled
along my pages.
   we write each other down. 
and I take notes.
   of the way your lips seems to pry me away from my solitude
of the way.
your laugh reminds me of navy blue. jellyfish. dancing..
    waves spread from your lagoons


Andrew Tipton
    
 

The Voodoo

I'm fifty stories up
screaming at the moon over Vegas,
ROARING.  with a whiskey in a fist.
sprawled out before me, like an eager gift
for my mouth
licks it up, laps the juice off the neon signs
totally nude
she asks to join me. and then I do. 
I have no use for these blaring lights
or your fascination
with sex. you all
will find that there is muchness buried here.
tucked away in the ballrooms and in
the tattoo shops.  where dancing turns
into affection, and affection
into love.
I only want to chew the stains off my
collar tonight
and breed
contempt for the girls
walking, heels in hand
their dirty bare feet
 scraping the pavement. 


Andrew Tipton