You sat heavy
Chaise-Longue,
on the floor
your toes turquoise
jelly beans
Your arms spinned
like pods supporting
your minty shoulders
from the molting
carpet. Hips like
full udders pressed
and pulled your
Belly taut and
Your breasts splayed
under a white
cotton frock.
I saw your eyes
wander upon the
hair
on my thigh until
I stood, collecting
the grey crumpled
papers, and left
to boil water for
tea. Upon your
chaffed joints,
you supported
chris abraham is a renaissance man, of sorts.
he grew up in hawaii, on the island of o`ahu where he studied photography under his father's tutilage until attending university back east where he received his degree in american literature.
chris has been writing and making images for the last 20 years in washington and abroad. his poetry has appeared . . .
now, chris is president of a small PR firm.
chris is an avid traveller and when he isn't enjoying berlin, he is jetting off somewhere.
I walk along Kalakaua
with this small black camera
in late afternoon and search out
images to form in and around.
I walked in a city I didn't know,
during a day poorly spent on a
lonely island.
The air was cool,
the sun low,
the light rich and orange.
People are smaller than I
They are fragile as tinder
I must appear absurd and
gargantuan in my shorts and
stripy shirt.
I wear my hair long and tangled
and a beard
