It occurred to me, there’s so much of you I do not know

It’s only the days and moments we’ve chosen to share

Like what about now? When you are fast asleep? What dreams and wishes are locked in there?

Or when you are next to another, your eyes, do they linger? Here or there?

Your thoughts, do they wander? Perhaps idly or do they throb?

Aching to touch, to hold, to know?

Will you ever really? Or just pretend?

And do we lie to each other and say it is enough?

All the time knowing it will never be. You can not know the whole of you or me.


Underwater Chaos…

Am I sleeping? I heard a voice from somewhere say. Underwater mumbling in depths too hard to surface, it’s all muffled—a dream like state.

There are voices, clairvoyant they ask and I deny. I see nothing, I know nothing, I am nothing, whispered from the tall backyard oaks.

And I believe them…

Somehow, the wind is my truth

Even the angels, with their mountainous height, their flaxen locks, larimar stare, and sentinel stance, have no way to wake me…

Wrapped in blankets of darkness and fitful slumber, visions play out like classic reels. Was it her? Or him? What about them? And is it all my fault?

Beautiful chaos, underwater dreams and Sahara desert visions. Mouth full of sand, wishing for a drink from a well that has already been poured dry.

Stranger Things…

I thought I saw you, once

But you just turned away, you left me standing there: shocked, bewildered, dismayed

The palms of my hands are still sweaty, twenty years ago, this May

My heart still skips a beat, though the music has long since been over played

Then again, I thought I saw you, once

Why can’t you just take a chance? Take the gamble? Throw caution to the wind?

You should know by now, what you fear is only skin, on skin, on skin

And surely you can see, there is no shallow end to the pool inside me

Don’t you trust that I can see? Bluer skies, a more yellow sun, a smile, a grin, a hidden tenderness covered in laughter ten inches, no! It’s more like feet, deep

I thought I saw you, once

Digging up old leaves, dusting off tired bones, I’m positive I saw you, once

Standing on the stairs, you were counting!

1,2,3… and looked down at me! I saw you, once jump, squealing: I’m free.

Can you count?…

The first night, I waited on a grassy knoll in the middle of black water swamp, wearing ivory lace and tears dripping from my chin.

I searched a starry night for the promised land, the cosmic galaxy, the blue moon, the anomaly of a unfulfilled promise, us.

Stuck in a vacuum of negative air, my lungs begged for your oxygen, your sunlight, your daydream into my nightmare.

Still nothing

But, a crumpled little girl on her knees picking up pieces of herself that she assumed were impossible to break.

He handed them to her, piece by piece, saying: I you fool, you foolish, foolish, little fool.

So she was, she claimed it with the stitches, the patchwork quilt of her wounded, half-dark heart. Pressing her fingers to the aortic, whispering: tell me again, “how many more days?”

Adventurous me…

I chuckled at her statement

“You have so many adventures” she says, it’s a vicarious life for her and for me

Can we trade places? I think, Maybe just a day or two, I swear

No more than three or four

I’ll plan on being at your bedroom door

Take your place amongst the sheets and pretend for once I’m not just me

My only adventure would simply be living “my dreams” cozied up on the oversized couch

Watching stars shoot across a Northern sky and listening to the sounds of my lover’s lullaby

Those moans, that ache, and sweetest of sounds filling up my mind’s coffers to appease me until the next go round…

In the void…

Here it is again, the silent days, they slay me. The empty void of days between, the constant you and the never will be, forever plaguing me.

Like the palpable tension of forbidden dreams or fantasies. Fulfilling unspoken promises of wine laden nights and promiscuity.

It’s understood in the unspoken messages between us two, there’s no intention to pretend, no–not with you.

patiently, biding time until the days when you are mine–under starry filled skies, sun flower fields, fast-moving-fresh-water rivers, free-falling water falls.

When the dreams of your limbs laced with mine are no longer the only place we can meet and there’s no desire left to flee in these drifter’s feet; then there will no longer be the days, the space in between.

Don’t Mind…Me…

It’s that time, she calls it the witching hour, and I’m lying under artificial lights and it burns my eyes.

I try to write with them closed, but this isn’t 1922 and I cant feel the keys. It doesn’t matter what my mind knows, that the keyboard is the same, my senses say then close one eye and keep on going, girl.

Suddenly, both eyes fly open because my brain just used my mother-in-law’s voice to reprimand me?

I must be feeling fear, because fear is the absence of love, she says! And God knows I’ve never felt it there.

I’m claustrophobic, in my own bed, it’s hard to breathe. My chest rattles like old bones and I resist the urge to cough anything up. Instead, I’d rather sink back into my uncomfortable dreams.

Like the one that woke me up, where a man is asking me questions and I see his lips moving, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying–tone deaf.

But, I swore it was a baby crying.

Kiss me Goodbye…

And if we met, on a dark and rainy day, the skies full of thunder and static and lightning, the air full of mystery and tension and lust, would you kiss my goodbye this time? Or let me and my memory return to rust?

If I am the tin man, and looking for a heart, would you help me find it this time? Or walk away with the lion and find some other place to start?

If you are the Wizard and have all the power too, did you brew up the storm between me and you? Or are you the Wicked Witch of the West? Sending out your monkey business to mess with my head?

Perhaps you are Glenda? All covered in pink, those smiles, that laugh…it’s all very tongue and cheekbones–your face it hasn’t changed, still calls to my thighs, glistening like my eyes at the memory of a twister, three stories too high!

But, now I’m just the scarecrow, left playing in the hay, with a set of matches you give me from day to day. Yet, as I sit and contemplate, I keep coming back to say, would you kiss me goodbye this time? Or just walk away?

Give in to me…

I want you, every inch, of your skin

Touching mine, in places we’ve talked about

And never seen.

I want your hand on mine, guiding it to perfect ecstasy.

I want your lips on mine, until we can not breathe.

I want your eyes on mine, never to leave.

I want days that do not end, and nights to suspend above the perfect pair of star-crossed lovers.

I want you, under my covers.

Sleeping Dog…

I dont guess that I’ll ever really understand how you could call yourself something that you never been.

You don’t get to wear the title, if you never win. There’s no trophy for a might-have-been, or a used to, or a faux pas. What’s done is done and you can never take it back.

Sure, you can try to pretend it never did, but we both know it was. And damned my soul if there weren’t witnesses, my dear.

Oh! That’s what it is! I’m shocked that I didn’t see before; you are afraid, afraid to be labeled a lesbian whore.

Do you think about my hot-pink, little, tongue when he goes down on you at night? Does it drip down your inner thigh? Did you convince him you simply don’t remember?

Or that you didn’t say you couldn’t tell the difference between his and my touches! Is he intimidated? Scared–feeling inferior, maybe needs some kind of reassurance?

Did he insist you wipe me from your repertoire! Throw up road blocks, build up walls, burn down old-wooden-patched bridges with blow torch?

Did you think I would see a smoke signal? A hidden SOS. Somewhere deep inside we both know now that’s not for the best.

Close your eyes and look away, bow your sorry head and beg to pray–erase all memory of the two, there is no me and certainly never again, you.