A poem about your back

I wrote the five letters of your name

in cursive writing with my fingertips.

I wrote the rest of the poem

in my head. It never comes to me

in the moment. It comes after

in riptides and synonymous with

coffee drinks. It arrives at my front

gate and whispers how you made

me feel cherished and adored.

I wrote in my head, on your back,

I love you, for showing me

your eyes, your thoughts, your touch

for having me

in your life. It is not even the

hours that matter, but what you

do with the ones that do, with the

silence and the words. Nothing

is something. When you ask me

what am I thinking? I am thinking

about how I do not want time

to cheat me, but it seems to

never stop banging with truth.

I felt your closeness

inside me.

And even laying together under

the sheets with no sun

brought the heat of Venus

into our hearts.

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Le Club

“the difference between Art and Life is that Art is more bearable” – Charles Bukowski

 

I want to keep all the seconds

minutes, hours to myself.

I want to revel

in the magic

of two glistening bodies.

I made a list of things

and created poetry

from chandeliers

and hotel lobbies.

Pinot noir and club sandwiches

with no tomatoes

who would believe

the poem?

My notes of you?

skin and sin, you said,

two peas in an ipod, I said.

I’m not afraid to eat

or to love your body.

I can caress too

I can feel your insides out

and your pain.

I could be a Real person

no frills

orchids on my skin.

Set alarm to sundown

and kiss some of your freckles

hello and goodbye.

Mohawk on your head

cause you’re the warrior

I’m too busy taking pictures

of chandeliers

being cozy in your arms

in my jeans.

I wonder if all the having

covered all the wanting.

I wonder what you were thinking

when I said

what was on my mind.

I am who I am.

I say the worst and the best

all in the same line.

You probably liked me still

do with me what you will

make my body sore

I will never complain.

Turn me anyway you desire

I like what clearly

makes you

want me like a teenager.

But I know how to lose people

by not knowing how to hold

on to them.

I’m always saying the wrong things

or staring at your lips

I’m banging my head

my heart

my body

my soul

my mind

up against your squeezed up chest

I can’t breathe

but I like it

being under you.

Sometimes you follow your heart

destroy your logic

in the walk

to the elevator.

I water my soul

with your kisses.

I’m fine.

Don’t know how to behave.

So excuse me

for this poem

that I’ve been meaning

to not write.

I always feel it’s

never good enough

for you.

 

Books not written

It will always feel

like you are losing me

as soon as you get too close.

Today I wanted to stay home

and write all day

and tomorrow

the same

but what silly thoughts

are these?

Trust me, that as soon

as you need me

it’s time to let me go.

Can you cut off

all the media?

All that noise?

I can.

I have.

I will.

I must.

Can you track me down

to see how I feel?

Can you close in on me

from everywhere?

Surround me with your strength

disarm me with your gentleness

the gap between the two

obscure

wide and approaching.

I see it from all angles

of this square

or that circle

or whatever you want to

call a shape within my mind

within a form

within an outline of my love.

For if you have my body

it comes with a soul

united.

Others can separate the two

discuss politics like sports

stir wet and dry ingredients

simultaneously

but I can save the day

with my frosting abilities

my inner sparkles that shine.

Soul and body

not that hard to disconnect the dots

that are invisible.

Reading Little Prince

again,

it appears life needs no explanation

while I was boarded up

with nails

until  you

resurfaced me.

Believe me, I have always

known how to walk into a room

full of people I know,

the trick is to do the same

with strangers.

I have always known

everything about me.

He reads my eyes and

that in itself is another

book

not written

(yet).

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lined shells

Almost fell asleep in the warm water
anti-stress relief
waiting for me
like a stone
lined shells on my shore
as I bury my head
to block out the sound
of the washing machine
the smell of apricot
and the suds evaporating
exposing all my flesh
to the surrounding ghosts
in flames
inside me
longing to get out
watching my every move
word
glance
sigh
orgasm
and waiting for me
to fuck up
over and over
as I slide into the darkness
underwater
where only mermaids
can understand
my need to escape
people
and their gemini faces.

Face me with your
early face
not your night one.

I walk like a woman
and I’ll look you
in the eye.
Straight on
like someone who stole
your heart
unannounced
uninvited
nipples chilled
heart aching
head aching
sore soul
from all the bullets
remaining tight and
sleeping with the silverware
wrapped around my heart
of gold.
You walk like a man
and I like the
way you read me
and never analyze
the mess I create
and the beauty I sow.
It is intertwined
within
each moan
and grace.

One time do not let my light
dissuade you
from my long legs
that run fast
and my young heart
that detonates
when you leave
me again
and again.