Up In Arms

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It rolls in, 

uninvited,

this news scrolling across 

my phone.

In my face

impossible to ignore.

Hits hard right in the solar plexus.

Grinding in deep,

excavation of the pain not possible.

10 dead in Texas high school shooting.

Again

&

Again

 

Yet the idiotic response

remains the same ~

“Arm the teachers!”

they say.

Really?

 

I’ve been one,

a high school teacher.

In front of class,

between the aisles,

on the sports field,

throughout the campus.

 

“In the desk”

a useless answer.

 

So tell me ~

Would I keep it strapped to my hip,

holster style?

Or

slung across my back, 

AR-15 style?

 

Cop first,

teacher second.

Lingering

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Soft skin of your shoulders

like velvet to my touch.

Cream in my mouth, 

melting.

Easy to consume.

Compelling me to stroke you lightly

only with my finger tips.

 

I trace outlines,

contours,

of your gentle curve.

Muscles lying relaxed but firm,

define graceful shape of place

where your burdens lie.

 

Your warm breath in my ear

saying something sweet.

What?

Does not matter.

The heat of it relaxes me

into a puddle of bliss.

 

Your body is thousands of miles away

never to return.

Yet you are beside me

in my bed ~ lingering.

Sensations of you 

planted deep.

A ghost that has no other home.