18 April 2012

the boy who rounded his words

tell me your words

and kiss my eyelids with
the surprise of a newborn
in heels.
try me.
eat my heart out through
my loins.
I will spread my legs and dance
along your thin,
giving lips.
paint me like one of your french
lay my feet along the right path,
the groove along your sinews
and rolling spine and lengthy
I have always been yours,
drawn from your ribs,
written with your fingers.
tell me you want my
I will drink you
into my veins,
transforming lust to life.
speak to me, now.
tell me what births
I may someday give.

01 April 2012

new meaning

put this balm on

the curve of my back and say
it will all be
okay, again.
remind me of the round tips
of your prodding fingers and
how they release the words from my
throat as misty, soundless gasps of
this simple meaning, this
yearning thirst.

speechless, I will teach you
my smell.
taste and become
yourself at sixteen,
painting me as your signature with
reaching arms as a resurrected woman
made youthful again in her own youth.

search my hands for
petals and laughter and
tell me my smell
becomes you.

29 March 2012

the wonder of green

I loved you before

my snow-scraped boots nestled
against kilimanjaro's curved back and
my lips began to taste
of something other than self,
of those ones I dipped into searching for your
apple-scented taste,
green and delightful.

I loved you before
my breasts ripened and
my hips widened with their expectation of
the bountiful life
that I hoped contained you,
even still.

I loved you before
-I know this -
because of how we danced our
characters together along
the seam of the aged dorm couch,
wisened by cheap beer and unrequited

I loved you before
my knees learned yoga and
I uncovered my uncanny touch that
still calls men's names from england,
mexico, honduras.

I loved you before
this weekend
when I taught you
this touch
once again and
I loved you even after
we delicately lay in your parents' bed
covered in the wonder of green
allowing the gravity to tiptoe
our fingers closer.
I will slide along
the creases of these wrinkled sheets,
ever decreasing our distance,
never again to reach
such great proportions.