Monthly Archives: August 2023

Poetry

Cotton Candy

Leave a comment

Your kiss is cotton candy, so sweet and slick and sticky with the flavored sugar burst of the promise of satisfaction but the aftertaste of empty and lost with the artificial color of your last “I love you” spilled before you walked out, the night when I most needed you to fill me with something more substantial.

When was the last time I was nourished here, where we are supposed to be each other’s center and source of the joy of being alive and in love with the world and with each other for the longest time in our lives of beauty and celebration, but you haven’t felt the desire to offer me that sustenance in a long time.

Over and over, we melt and dissolve in the rain of our differences, pouring over us like the loss we’ve both experienced before, in other loves, in other likes, but now in this place of so long together, the years of us trying to be US and not just you and just me.

I want more than raspberry blue and cherry red, a party favor, just for show, so it’s time to step away from the web of spun fluff we’ve built around us and make something that satisfies this hunger I think we both have.

Poetry

We Both Know – The Apps

Leave a comment

Dance of the Apps

We both know.
We knew in an instant,
but still we do the dance.
Out of habit
Out of fear
We both want the same thing
We already said it
In so many words.
In so many pictures.
In so many fantasies.

You want to be up.
I want to be down.
You want to be in.
I want to be around.
You want to lead.
I want to be led.
You want to give.
I want to receive.
What more is there to know?
Yet still we dance.

But neither will say “yes.”
Not yet.
What would it be?
How would it go?
What if it fails
And scarier,
What if it succeeds

The dance is over.
Opportunity has passed.
Uncertainty prevailed.
We look for other partners,
Hoping to find the one
Who brings it home

Poetry

Two Step

Leave a comment

It takes two to tango,
Or so they say.
But how many does it take to fall?
The pair takes the hit for one misstep
Once the rhythm is broken,
We are both on the floor.
Disqualified.
Lost.
Done.

I loved the way we moved together.
The glide across the floor,
Needing to touch.
Always more to say.
Staring eye to eye.
The tangle of the sheets.
Intimate.
Lustful.
Love?

I believe the more beautiful the dance,
The more terrible the fall.
Precious objects shatter to dust.
Flying high then hitting hard.
Arms and legs scattered
We aren’t even touching
Separated.
Broken.
Chaos.

I’ll stop asking who tripped first.
Even if it were me, I’ll never know.
Taking blame is my superpower.
It was me. It is always me.
This is how it will happen next time.
And you showed me how.
Empty.
Silent.
Blank.

Any two other dancers would stand,
Take a breath,
Shake themselves off,
offer each other a hand,
Look each other in the eye
Maybe “let’s try again”
But not us.
Not now.
Not again

Someday, I will remember the dance
And not just the fall.
Your touch will feel true.
Your kiss will mean something
Your heart will be there, too
Like it was before that day
Graceful
Content
Real

Poetry

Boy on a train

Leave a comment

I saw a boy on a train, hopping on at a grade crossing and hauling himself into a car full of boxes and straw, and the smell of livestock not quite gone. His eyes full of sparkles and mischief. Barely a beard, belied his 20 years. His body short and graceful and gangly at the same time. A puppy on a tile floor.

I heard a boy on a train tell stories of times and places, and of people, passionate and curious and with a joy of connection. I wanted to be him, to share the thrill of exploration, and curiosity and passion for who they really are. I wanted to be them, to have a friend so open to who I am as to be able to search for my own answers.

I watched a boy on a train. All charm. open ears, open smile and open heart. He had a story he needed to hear or to create. He leaned into his fellow riders, “let’s try it,” “explore with me,” and “tell me more.”

I sat with a boy on a train. Both going in the same direction, but it still took time to realize that. We shared breathless stories and restless dreams. “As long as we keep moving,” he said, “It’ll be alright.” I think I agree.

I held a boy on a train. Shared tears, so much cheaper than cocktails and so much more precious. That’s a toast I don’t share with strangers, so I guess that makes him a friend.

I smelled a boy on a train. Scavenged cigarettes, beer, weed, his leather backpack, his natural scent, unmarred by the pretension of fragrance. He made me lean in and breathe him, igniting my passion.

I kissed a boy on a train. The flirtation too much for both of us, and the possibilities too divine, the pleasure too intense. That’s a step I didn’t think I’d take so soon, but it seemed so natural.

I loved a boy on a train. Curious and laughing and smiling and looking in each other’s eyes and finding new ways to explore each other. Touching and tasting and taking. And, hey, we are on the same train after all.

I left a boy on a train. Life has its way and journeys diverge. Each to his own calling, drawn by his own muses. I know I’ll want him and miss him, but I have to go where I have to go. We’ll follow our own paths into the world.

Besides, as long as I keep moving, it’ll be alright.

Poetry

Holy

Leave a comment

You stand. I kneel.
The perfect dance,
Where we don’t move,
Except those parts
Where you are in me.

Sometimes, we pause.
My breath stopped
By your urgency,
Which is always mine, too.
Your needs are my own.

The dance restarts. I inhale,
Capturing your scent
And we go back to our rhythm
Each moving to heighten
And deepen.

We take our time,
Ensuring the pleasure grows.
And the need becomes unbearable.
This is about the journey
And not the destination

The pace is yours
And then becomes mine
Your hands on my head,
My eyes on yours
Your breathing ragged.

As with all journeys,
There is a destination.
You arrive at yours
At the instant I reach mine.
Offering me your Gift.

What is holy, if not this dance,
The coupling of our hunger,
The passionate give and give,
The Sacrament you have given me
And the pleasure I have given you.

What is holy, if not this dance,
The temple between your thighs,
The place of service at your feet,
The Hardness that swells with need
And the silver thread from lip to tip

What is holy, if not this dance.
Filling our needs
Satisfying our desire.

This is when I worship
This is why I pray
This is what I need
This is how I heal
This is where I live.

Poetry

Sleep and dreams

Leave a comment

Restless sleep
The darkest keep
Of senseless dreams.
And there it seems
The sleeping heart
Is kept apart
From bitter mind
Where hope once shined,
Until the dark
Put out that spark.

But dreams are stuff
With truth, enough,
To cling to day,
And as they stay
In space between
The day’s routine.
They come to feel
A bit too real.

Then, mornings come,
With warnings from
A place of loss
That spans across
My heart unstilled,
And unfulfilled.
Those lips not kissed
The touch just missed
The time not shared
The soul not bared,
The naked skin,
Without the sin.

Now, when I wake,
The day will take
The part I crave
To memory’s grave.
And leaving just
The hint of dust,
Those specters fade,
In sunlight’s shade.
And as my room
Descends to gloom,
I pray for light
In dreams, tonight.