His Voice is Thick Sometimes

His voice is thick sometimes,

thick like molasses

tumbling through my intestines

like last night’s cauliflower. 

His voice is elusive sometimes, 

Floating somewhere here, in my chest,

like the morning fog.

The more I reach for it, the farther it gets.

His voice flutters sometimes,

like butterfly wings, dancing in my bones

So quickly, I don’t know what’s happening

until it’s over

His voice is a leaf sometimes,

Modest and Unassuming, 

Blending in with all that lives

Just waiting to be noticed. 

His voice is quiet sometimes,

Tucked within my breath 

Gently sustaining, 

Silent, yet present. 

His voice is a blanket sometimes,

resting on my shoulders in the cold wind,

But so fleeting, it leaves me wondering if happened at all.

His voice isn’t often a voice,

Oh sometimes there’s words, 

sometimes there’s imaginations,

Sometimes there’s nothing

Yet, His nearness is constant. 

And His nearness, is love 

Moving, swaying, 

Inviting me to a dance. 

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