Full moon in Virgo

It could have started and ended the same way

but I keep on telling him

(as he holds me close and 

I smell his skin)

you don’t have to read my poems

or my book

to get into my head

so he reads the first ten pages

and brings the air

between us closer.

I see you in there

yet I don’t.

Forget the bloody moon

but what are the chances of it being my full moon

Isn’t that the title of your poetry book

I never published it

oh, I thought that’s what you do

just kiss me and don’t think too much

that’s my domain

forget the questions

remember only the answers.

The air is so thin now.

I can’t read you anymore.

The light followed me for days

to guide me to an empty place

to all parts of this town

as books fell out of my purse

to land on your thighs

it’s sexy to write a poem

when everyone thinks you’re not.

It’s sexy to kiss you

in front of strangers

when everyone thinks otherwise.

A well

(I wish I had more time to tell you how I love full sentences. I wish you could hear me when I sleep, but you’re out cold. I wish you understood me better, but as complicated as I seem, this is how the opposite is true).

I wish I didn’t see all the

grammar errors

I wish I could over-

look my inner child

and ignore the brilliant

colors of the sky.

I wish I didn’t have

this sixth sense

that tells me to run

or this rebel child

that wants me by her side.

I wish you were

in my paradise

when I was alone.

I wish that your voice

didn’t affect me

or your hands didn’t

grasp my waist

so firmly.

I wish your eyes wouldn’t wander

but my wishes

are all at the bottom

of the well

with rusty coins

and lost hope.

I cannot stop

the sadness

from ringing my bell

and letting herself in;

she has a way

of clearing out the alcohol cabinet.

I wish I could sail

on your boat,

but, just as the moon

has phases

so does love,

so do I

as so do you. 

Dreaming

I was in and out of myself
last night
having out of body experiences
with all my selves.
(How do you write all this stuff early in the morning, Tina asks)
(You’re inspiring,
Addy tells me at dinner)
but all I can tell you
is when the words hit
they knock even me down
leaving me breathless
in that state between reality and dream.
That place
between me and you,
as the words poured out
a bit at a time, like my Cosmo,
until the dream I had
went something like this:
we sat next to each other
and it was pure
and real
surreal
glimpses of each other
as you let my smile
affect yours
and my innocence
replace yours.
I could share more about
this dream
but my soul
will only allow me to see
parts of it,
others it has blocked out
to make me believe
that dreams are tangible,
reality obscure
my mind is working
in dualities
in Wilde time
in Nin moments
in no shades at all.

In lost rhymes,
we found it,
in that dream
that had me tossing the words
at your shore
under the midnight moon;
that had me turning the sheets
into swords
under the dark grey sky.
It’s just words, in the end,
in the morning, in the evening;
but how these words
can take over the dream
and wake me up
in this desire
to make it all real.
How words
can create
or destroy
manipulate
or empower.
I’m the first
of my kind,
as you are
of yours.
You may not know that now,
but one day you
will understand
I am older
and wiser
and every year counts
in every lifetime,
but, alas,
the lifetime that matters most
is this one
and this dream.
I knew that all along.