Sweat.

The air is thick with the sounds of the jungle 

howler monkeys sing into the sun dusted morning 

I feel like I’ve been transplanted into a different time 

tiny dinosaurs watch me drink my mandarin lime & beer on ice 

I’ve given up caring about the sweat dripping down my body 

the tico server wipes the water rings from the bar.

I wish he would do the same for my legs; slippery against this wooden bench

Closing my eyes, I imagine home 

with mountains so tall and silent 

Pines blanketed in snow

A solitude that this lively jungle doesn’t know

My trance interrupted as I swat and kick the no-see-ums from my ankles

My legs are swollen with bites from those blood-sucking-bastards

Closing my eyes, I think about crisp cool air, 

micro-brewies, wool socks, and thick blankets

But I’ve got a soft spot for those two rocking chairs 

Sipping rum to the classics Jimi Hendrix and Louis Armstrong 

filling the tropical night with conversations about our pursuit for greatness;

This life away from life is good and all 

but it doesn’t hold a candle to a life held between four-wheels, the asphalt, 

and pouring all this sweat into something bigger than we could have ever dreamed.

Wildly Free

I’m learning how to be alone

To look at that couple wildly in love

and know I don’t have that because I’m too busy being wildly free

so when he devours me with that ‘I’m going to tame you’ stare.

I’ll disarm him with my ‘I’m striving for greatness’ eyes 

You, with your olive skin and sandy blonde hair, 

aren’t ready to walk down that road with me

My sheets are for me to get tangled and dream in

I exist in a world where the road is my front yard

where howling at the moon, naked, with a bottle of whisky

is not only accepted but strongly encouraged. 

Where vulnerability and bravery are synonyms 

and laughing deeply, loudly, and uncontrollably is a prescribed medication

I don’t have time to worry about you leaving 

or what happens when the road calls

I’m sure your skin tastes like the caramel color it is 

and those calloused hands could make my back arch 

but I’m learning to fuel my own fire 

and raising my glass to those who are deliciously in love.