released in darkness and in water
For Andrew, the day before we moved in together.
I miss you most in the mornings,
that time when the sun strikes
the roof with such angular
intensity, and I’m left
alone in my bed, tightly coiled
in blankets clutched in my fists,
dreaming I’ll wake up
with you next to me.
12 November 2010
Sort of for Andrew. <3
Predatory,
I am taking you within
me, though I am smaller
and weak.
Twisted up in my hair,
we make love or we
fuck–it's all the same–
your hands holding mine
above my head
as your hips crash into me, hard.
Monday 22 February 2010
My thoughts and dreams become ever more surreal.
My wingboned lover,
feathered and fair and
strong: My world is full
of whispering lips and
saccharine smiles, sentiments
that are false and fabricated
and secretly laughing at me,
and all I want is to escape–
to be carried away
by you, to crawl into the
gleam of your eye and forever
be the part of you that shines.
8 June 2009
together adv. in, into, or as a single body.
Sometimes I wish that I could
just melt right into you,
if it meant that we could be
closer, and I would sing
songs to you from the deepest
part of me, and I would
cradle you within me and
keep you
warm.
29 April 2009
These late nights,
in the dark of my room,
I can hear my fish talking
to me in words I cannot understand,
I feel whispered breaths against
my ear, see shadows
dance in the edges of my vision–
I no longer fear it.
The company is, almost,
comforting.
25 March 2009
This is hell. This is bright, tormenting hell. He is my perfect angel, with rage in his eyes. His touch burns me and heals me all in the same instant. He has loved me and tamed me, but I cannot hold him close. I’m grasping for shadows in the dark. He is my Eros: perfect and forbidden, secret and unattainable. Eros for Psyche; love for my soul.
Things these eyes have seen thus far:
the unfolding of the heart to share
memories of waking dreams,
tangled up in Love, and bare
and opened now–(you who are
the true and sacred Soul of things)–
to understand the course of life,
how it pulls away and never lingers
(all the while you twist his hair
between your fingers
and passively you wonder why
you are not where
you can be together).
Loving in the haze of sleep,
intoxicated on smoke and dreams–
(you’ve felt the price of lies to keep,
and touched the joy of promised things)–
forever changing with the weather.
3 February 2009
Screaming silence past my lips,
it falls and crashes at my feet,
tripping me and counting beats–
“feel the meter of the piece;
step in time, pause, repeat”–
internalize, and hide it deep.
3 February 2009
I can no longer look
you in the eye.
Too much lives within
that place, behind the liquid-
crystal of your cornea–
things that remember
who we once were
and the songs we used to sing
in the quiet of my room
and in the dark of our heavy-
lidded eyes.
29 January 2009
W. (M.)
Like a bird struggling
to leave your throat,
I can see my name forming
and then it settles
on your lips, perched
and tentative, torturous.
I saw you almost say that
you loved me–
I saw it in your eyes and
in the form of your shoulders–
but that is something
which is only just
beyond my reach.
27 December 2008
Closing my eyes
or half-dreaming–
my body is euphoric
and everything seems so new
and bright, and yet distant.
The breathing next to
me keeps my rhythm going,
keeps me from forgetting again.
I feel like I’m underwater
or touched lightly by wind,
and everything seems like a dream.
But I open my eyes and
I’m still grounded, fluid
in my sleeping, and
dancing in my waking.
27 December 2008
She is earth and she is glory.
Dying and spinning and growing
cold and resistant, a rock
of such solidity and contempt–
she is a force against man,
once warm and open, now
hardened and refusing.
November 2008
It’s already dark, and
the skies are cloudy and swept
with wind, pulling the leaves
from the trees and my hair
across my face.
I have forgotten whom
these hands belong to,
and where their warmth has gone.
Take your hands off my eyes;
I want to be swept away.
6 November 2008
I’m pleading with my eyes,
my legs pulled up behind you–
they’re too long and they’re white–
but my tongue can’t form
the words to tell you
of the times my body penetrated
the ocean and my legs were
tangled in seaweed
and my throat was full
of salt.
3 November 2008
Laying in the dark,
I can hear your chest rise and
fall, your fingers tracing mine–
so close, yet it cannot be.
Your scent is in my blankets
and in my hair, and you roll
and turn closer to me, laughing.
I stare at the ceiling to
distract myself.
1 November 2008
An old poem. I can’t remember when it was from.
I opened my window to think
at the sun I had noticed
reflected in the helios annuus
in the blue vase on the table.
They drink the water, drawing it
up through the stems,
much like the sun drinks the rivers,
and the ocean, in turn, swallows the eastern sun.
