screaming kettle

come to me you stolen moments
those pseudonymous pleasures
walk the night with me for the day
as lovely as it was, hung very chill
your touches and glances, never
will I forget how they sank to bone
even when I was content
I felt more or less alone, without
the comfortable stroke of fingers
down my naked thigh, their magic
part of me at the cellular level
your lips in my ear calling me ‘petal’
ignoring the screaming kettle
intermittently making me sigh

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Ballad of me and Rachel

 




She held the handle of the hairbrush
provocatively, and
I wondered what was about to happen
what was going to happen
when she took the steps across the room
to reach me
or my feet, frozen to the floor
would make their way to her–

I didn’t know her very well
but she knew me
She knew every spot on my body
that made me stay
every spot on my body
she knew where to touch
to get her way, every time

She said, ‘I like this neighborhood
I want to stay
to find a little place where I can paint
a little place to paint and say
I’ve been somewhere
and I belong somewhere
where someone loves me.’

Love, did she say love?
my mind and body confused
she wanted to stay and I wanted that too
but the word got in the way
four letters got in the way
but not that day, that day
we went everywhere she wished
without leaving my place

Years later I think of her fondly
I remember her soft hair
I remember how her hair lay over my chest
but I couldn’t say
we went every where she wished,that day
but four letters got in the way
and I couldn’t say why
but I wasn’t ready to say, ‘stay’.

eaten up

the days have nibbled at time
until there are so few
that I wonder what will become of me
of this life strewn about
the shelves full of longing
the appetites stowed away
in kitchen cabinets

what is to be done with
unfulfilled expectations
eating up the real dreams
too many to mention
too few to expect
a world to notice

so I look to you to be my beacon
you will hold my secrets
gathered and trimmed
stacked neatly with lavender
your smile falling on the brown paper
my cologne seeped into each memory

some tossed out for a future
that will not recognize their worth
but will leave with me
held close to my bosom
some released to the wind
hoping that it will be kind

this life of mine
relegated to boxes
un-openable to anyone
but to those
who will understand