Isi Gibson

I coat my voice with honey

Because you would break

If my words

Were not sugar coated 

Because that is love,

When my beaten wrinkled skin is still caressed by you, 

And your gray smoky hair is my loving obsession. 

My treasure is my eyes, 

The colors they create,

The color they are, 

Gray husky and slate. 

My treasure is not captive,

    Fall had come, and close to its end, it approached. The air became brisk, with winter awaiting in the future, and as a girl wandered down the sidewalk, autumn's old skin shifted through the air above her maple hair.

He is a toy cowboy on a horse 

and is dragged off into the sunset 

while my stuffed bunny heart 

waits in the backdrop to be held. 

Our God is the small Girl who hides