Hobbies - Poetry - AnonymousGreen
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    Look deep in your pocket, woman,
    Look deep there and pick up your harmonica,
    The one I hid there for you
    Long ago
    If... maybe... just in case.
    Shake away from it the dried crumbs of bread
    and clumps of sugar
    and blobs of dehydrated spit mixed with bits of chocolate,
    Shake it good
    Then put it to your lips and start blowing,
    Does not matter what
    or for whom
    or if is full of false notes and weird wheezing sounds,
    Just start blowing your heart
    and your songs
    and your mind
    And let the sand in your veins shriek through the tiny orifices
    and whistle as it squeezes the air out of the moldy chambers
    accommodating your bits of lung and cough and painful recollections,
    Sing your awaking, woman,
    Because this is not the last mountain
    but you own the rights to your own songs
    and singing
    and knowledge of the songs you sang yesterday
    and deeds you did the day before that
    and courage you need before you raise your head
    squinting your eyes at the next peak
    and with the harmonica between your teeth starting the next climb.

    You are the singer,
    You are the beauty,
    You are the you,
    Look back and down
    the clouds beneath you
    the sun above you,
    climb on,




    Is undefined.
    If I could define magic
    I could create it,
    Employ it,
    Recreate it,
    I cannot... I wish... I wished... I wish...
    I regard you approaching
    Step steady,
    Self assurance mixed with question marks
    and beauty... oh, so much beauty
    in your eyes
    once you remove your sunglasses
    and I sink in rich hues of green and greener and greenest
    and you.

    I cannot... I wish... I tell you
    as you lay one commanding finger across my lips
    move it to the left of my mouth
    and let it run softly upon them
    to the right
    and back
    and once more
    before bringing it back to your mouth
    and kissing it.
    Tears swell in my eyes
    looking at you and knowing and wishing and knowing.

    Mezzuzah... you tell me,
    you taught me the word,
    Kissing your fingers again
    Sliding your arm underneath mine
    and with head on my shoulder leading me
    beneath trees
    along sidewalks
    under skies
    upon mountains
    The music never ending and echoing our words
    of love
    Oh, so much love, pouring, flooding, pounding us to pulp
    before carrying us upon its waters higher up
    Never releasing your arm from underneath mine
    and your head from my shoulder.

    We know,
    our miracle happened,
    Magic has just crossed our way
    and left its mark
    on my lips
    on your fingers
    on my shoulder and your blushing cheek
    as you look up at me from the depths of the snow-white pillow
    and my tears threaten to drown your eyes
    when you start plucking the strings of my heart
    and together
    we fall asleep in the lands of reality.
    Magic. Ours.




    The glancing razor off my skin...
    From never was
    To always been...
    Besieged by life,
    The plunging knife
    Turned lilac stems and evenings green.

    Was it by me
    Besieging thee
    And turning pain
    Stars studded rain?

    Through pits beneath worm ridden crust...
    From thrashing guts
    To glinting lust...
    Besieged by you,
    I found anew
    The shine of love beneath the rust.

    Was it by me
    My smiling spree
    When turning words
    Wild poem herds?

    The arm beneath my failing chest...
    From crushing lung
    To soaring zest...
    Besieged by doubt,
    Your flowers sprout
    Through body warm and soft of breast.

    Was it by me
    As on my knee
    I seed the sun
    And love the one?



The Smell

    The smell,
    I like the smell, you said
    Advancing in front of me
    Like a man possessed
    (hey, like a woman possessed, look at my boobs...),
    Nose high in the air the way of bloodhounds tracing life
    and advancing in the shop between the shelves
    looking for the pheromones of mildewed glue
    and brittle pages darkened at the edges
    and for those upon a time gentlemen
    who tried to seduce you all your life
    (they hit on me, the dirty old men... smiling)
    without any trace of losing their touch
    even when reaching long deserved senility...
    Longfellow, Yeats, Frost...

    You stopped,
    I knew that frightening look of goal achieved
    and victory grasped
    when your middle finger pointed to a north-east direction
    (I always had this finger decision problem, sorry...)
    and you whispered
    The nook,
    For me
    My hook,
    My book of poetry...

    before starting that undeniable pull on that undeniable leash
    attached to my hand
    and dragging me almost at a forty five degrees body angle
    towards that point always rushing away
    a few inches in front of your finger
    yet with a final and known point of impact.
    I looked at that face alight with exploding bonfires
    and sparkling geysers
    and visible fist size molecules of lilac fragrance and jasmine fragrance
    drooling away from those kid big eyes
    and my return whisper trailed your thinning form
    in an effort to penetrate your consciousness...
    I see,
    I look,
    The nook,
    My book,
    For me
    My book of poetry...

    I wonder if you heard me,
    Did I penetrate,
    Did you... understand my reply?
    I wonder? I wondered...
    You raised those things which on humans are called eyes
    and burned some traces on my skin signing letters
    and words
    and sentences
    before my cognition traced the movement of those things
    which on humans are called lips
    Sir, your poetry might be grand
    But with due respect
    I’ve been to the school of
    Longfellow and Yeats and Frost...

    The mist beneath those things which on humans are called eyelashes...
    Your book of poetry?...
    I dared not pull away from the penetrating regard...
    Yes, my book of poetry.

    I don’t remember when that kiss started.
    I do wonder, though,
    How can I write these words
    with my lips still kept prisoners
    inside that jail which on humans is called... mouth.




    Laughing loudly at my own incompetence
    both to face the fact
    and to insist nevertheless,
    Attempting to describe the indescribable,
    Attempting to describe... you.

    I am waiting for the unique moments,
    Those putting you apart from the others
    and branding your essence, your you.
    Waiting... stupid word, please lend me another,
    How can one wait parts of time immeasurably small
    How can one lay out in discrete words the fluidity
    of this uniqueness which simply flows out of you
    thumbing its nose at my earlier mentioned incompetence
    and proving me and my other earlier mentioned attempts
    to describe the indescribable
    to catch the indistinguishable
    to portray this continuous flow of uniqueness
    well... incompetent?
    Maybe I should invent new words,
    Maybe I should call it uniquity,

    You stir under the blankets,
    The soft snore self morphing into soft breath
    while a soft ankle softly crawls out from underneath the blanket...
    Softly... is this the new word?
    My previous cohesive thought processes start melting away
    as a second ankle joins the first
    and the blanket draws away from your chest revealing...
    I am melting... I uncover my secret close to your ear
    leaving pen and paper and keyboard orphans for a few seconds
    and fingers get for a few moments a different preoccupation
    with softer... ahmmm... things.
    You are always so morbid... you hum back into my ear
    catching my lower lip between your teeth
    and squeezing... almost...
    OK, it is just sweat... I lie
    watching patches of me dripping on your cheeks, lips,
    and sliding down to the pillow.
    Good, because I would hate carrying you around in a bottle
    hooked to my side...
    you almost bite again.

    I stop attempting,
    Stop thinking,
    Stop... whatever.
    I simply love you.
    Hey... I suddenly jump... I found it.
    Found what? you ask.
    The shortest yet best description of you.
    You finally open wide, though still puffy eyes
    Eyeing me incomprehensibly,
    Yet knowing of my undeclared madness you let it pass
    Expecting me to go on.
    I jump off the bed and rush to the desk
    picking up again pen, paper, keyboard
    and combining my skills on the mix of medias
    I skip all words I wanted to write in order to write just one.
    And place an exclamation point behind it.
    I sense you behind my shoulder,
    Leaning on it, your breath hot on my ear.
    I knew you were going to write this word, you chuckle.
    How? I ask, crestfallen for the n-th time in our relationship.
    Because it’s the only word you ever used, now you laugh
    as I make a face and rush back through all my previous writes
    to prove you wrong.
    I prove you right.
    Sorry, guess I lost my originality way back, I murmur,
    sadness penetrating my lowered voice.
    Don’t, you murmur back
    Forcing me out of the chair,
    Sitting on it
    And cuddling me in your naked lap.
    Because this is the only word which counts on paper.
    What is in your heart, on the other hand, is... indescribable.

    I cannot control my drooling
    as I smile big
    and turn the computer off.
    You plagiarize my thoughts, I say.
    Did you ever think how I know of them? you ask
    licking away my drooling traces
    and letting me taste it back
    the way it would taste on your lips...




    of us,
    of us,
    Tomorrow’s path purged of yesterday’s impurities
    under a red sunset telling us of beauty, warmth, green sunrise.

    settling in our veins,
    Drops of blood
    painting our future on a white rose’s rim,
    Red ribbon
    the steel of silk binding hands, hearts, lives.

    I blink away tears
    wishing you not to see them,
    failing miserably...
    Tears? you ask.
    Happiness, I answer, the truth, the only truth.
    You use your thumb to dry the corners of my eyes,
    asking me what it is I wish to take with me.
    You know my answer... you... is my wish to say
    yet all I can is the stain of wine
    the dried up rose
    the ribbon...
    Tears? you ask.
    Forever, I answer, the truth, the only truth.
    You use your thumb to dry the corners of my eyes,
    asking me what is it that I remember.
    You know my answer... love... is my wish to say
    yet all I can is I love you
    I love you
    I love you...




    How will I
    Think, laugh, speak?
    I open a momentary window to yesterday
    Looks like eons ago, or seconds,
    The sneaking fingertip touch on my arm
    or cheek
    The hug, smothering, oh, wishing for death,
    The sudden kiss, was it expected
    or unexpected?
    The regard
    fierce, penetrating, burning the tears framing it
    into tomorrow’s dissipating clouds
    about to perish into the nothingness preceding advancing suns
    and words shouted straight into the mush of my brains.

    I close the window, reluctantly,
    Moments more and it will suck me into the void separating worlds
    to never return,
    And I did promise to ever return.
    I close the window.
    Leaving pieces of heart and chunks of sanity behind
    wrapped in the glossy surface
    of liquid salt...
    When was it that you licked my eyes clean?
    You did a poor job of it, I allow a passing thought
    Feeling my shoes slosh through wet carpets
    and cascades running down ascending airport steps.

    I let my eyes follow suit and close,
    Pull a blanket over my head
    and enjoy the unrelenting pain,
    No, I could not do without this pain,
    Without this memory called hope
    and knowledge
    of the next time
    when you will wait for me
    stamping your feet
    grabbing handfuls of shirt
    and once again sucking me into the flesh of your frame
    and you.
    You love me, I declare my love for you,
    And passers by avert eyes and avoid path
    letting insanity run its course
    as I hug computer pictures of you
    and songs you sang in my ears
    and crumbs of a piece of bread we shared in an Italian restaurant.
    You love me, I repeat,
    And feel the shiver joining your toe to your hair roots
    running its course a billion miles away
    in that other dimension which yesterday was called us
    and today is called us
    and tomorrow is called us I hear you saying
    through that window I tried closing earlier on
    waiting patiently for me to remove the blanket from over my head
    Before the swish of kisses and the grump of hugs penetrate
    into my dimension
    And countless I love you’s invade the tiny airplane space
    telling your version of the story.
    Our version you admonish me, correct as always,
    And I pity the ignorance of all who watch
    and will never know



A Blink Away

    They tried, they failed,
    All of them,
    Nobody can make it happen.
    I can’t neither...
    This is double negation, you say,
    This makes it a positive statement.
    I know, I answer, I try to make it happen by cheating,
    Maybe it helps.

    It does not.
    The seconds arm insists on its boring rotary motion,
    Time, controlling fates, lives, the world,
    Unstoppable king Chronos does on his lead boots
    and pursues his glorious conquering march
    crushing under his studded soles loves, dreams, hopes.
    I can’t stop him neither...
    Double... you interject again, on purpose,
    Cunningly trying to curve my lips’ ends upwards
    And partially succeeding
    as my mouth clings to yours
    and obligingly follows its shape.
    Then you hide your face inside my shirt
    and the convulsions shattering your shoulders
    shatter my heart.

    I pick a large cobblestone in my right hand
    and lift it menacingly,
    What are you doing? ask the red stains surrounding your eyes.
    I will smash my wristwatch
    together with my wrist,
    maybe this is the trick.
    I almost drop it
    when you lay your cheek on my wrist, questioning me again.
    And if you succeed it means you will never return.
    And if I succeed it means I never leave.
    And if you succeed it means we freeze forever.

    You are right. Once more.
    If I admitted the number of times I counted you were right...
    And paid one kiss for each...
    My lips would have worn down to my skull’s bone...
    And so would mine.
    We found the courage to smile again,
    Time relegated to its high pedestal
    And our love story a few notches... higher up.

    I forced your claws open,
    Your fangs out of my flesh,
    Your steel sinews to uncoil from around my chest,
    My heart screamed its thin peril
    the moment the last of my skin parted from the last of your skin
    though now we knew...
    next we meet is only a blink away.
    I blinked.



Beautiful?... Not Really...

    There is some problem with your eyes,
    Much too green to them, much too bright
    And the red
    To your head
    (hey, look at me, I’m a poet...)
    Turns my mind
    Raving wild
    (well, I guess I have some rhymical limitations... sorry...).
    Your skin?... Is it white?
    I’d rather call it pale,
    Like the insides of a coconut split open
    under a hive dripping thick honey
    burnt into irregular brownish spots
    by a virgin sun mating for the first time in its life
    with a dream built into its ancestral memory
    at the hands of its once upon a time God father
    (mmm... not bad this one for a beginner...).

    Beautiful? You? No, not really...
    Probably gorgeous would be the right word.



Something With Seasons

    if you insist, she said, all I can offer you is

    my summer's trilling nightingale
    and feathers painted autumn pale
    long winters clad in steaming breath
    and springs escaping roving death

    a song awakened by your touch
    a bed as soft as never such
    and storming lungs inside my kiss
    when life invades my forest's bliss.

    if this your offer, I said, all I can insist on is

    a summer's dance inside a song
    and bouncing leaves all autumn long
    in winter's kiss a sprouting rhyme
    my spring, my life, my end of time...



Ribbon Red

    Holding hands,
    The ribbon rolling around,
    Then again, then again,
    The perfection in your movement betraying the flutter in your heart
    As the ribbon binds the skin,
          then the flesh,
          then the bones...
    You raise your eyes, watching me
          then the souls...
    The serenity in my stance betraying the music in my heart.

    The tie,
    The knot,
    The ends dangling almost to the floor
    Oscillating your way, my way,
    As you inhale, I exhale,
    Then my way, your way,
    As I inhale, you exhale,
    The perfect mathematical imprecision of love
    locking itself inside our minds’ sockets
    at sounds of sharp clicks... or is it trumpets?...
    proclaiming the birth of our nation
    My lips attached to your ears
    Your lips attached to my ears
    Vowing in whispered unrehearsed unison
    our immutable constitution

    I open my eyes.
    The dream is over.
    I watch the red tails raveled around our once tossing bodies
    and now lying inside scalding sweat side by side
    the loops cutting into our wrists
    alongside popping veins and blue furrows
    And the green butterflies fluttering their lashes close to my face
    tell me
    of the dream which was not.
    I dare smile,
    One does not wake up from a dream into a dream after all,
    And I silently thank the powers unknown for the not dream
    as I gather your lips into mine
    and start singing smiles upon the fields of your tongue
    under the skies of your palate.

    I feel the ribbon tightening its grip further
    tiny red spots gathering on finger ends
    and soaking invisibly into the silken mesh.
    A dream which was not is about to pursue its trail
    And before I succumb again to the beauty of you
    I gather the white rose in my hand
    and slide it between your rebelling curls
          to love
          to honor
          to trust
          and happiness
          till death runs scared into our path.





    Just ask me oceans wide to cross
    And I will wade inside the moss
    Though... hmm, you see, my swimming score
    Will get me, well, ten feet from shore?...

    So, better, ask me just to ride
    A one wheeled bike with jester’s pride
    Yet... lay some pillows butt to butt
    Before I break my... you know what...

    No, wait, this one’s a real task
    You see the coin inside this flask
    With just one finger out I’ll tease...
    Now... ouch... the hammer... pretty please?...

    She looked at me,
    Head cocked to one side like a red furred mongrel bitch
    Watching a furless tailless mindless prairie dog,
    Drooling happiness and insanity.
    Can you get me the moon?
    No, sorry, too high.
    Can you get me the sun?
    No, sorry, too hot.
    So what can you do for me?
    I could write you a poem.
    You just did.
    No, this is a sweet’n’silly.
    You just did.
    I mean a real poem, a love poem.
    You just did, she insisted for a third time,
    Baring a pair of fearsome canines.
    Love poetry comes in all shapes,
    You just created one more shape.
    I was not afraid,
    I was terrified.
    May I
    (you should have heard the jitter in my voice and the growl in hers)
    add just one more stanza?
    You may,
    And she surely kept those canines visible at all times.

    Then ask my justice, ask my pride,
    My fears, my claims, my dreams I hide...
    You wish the sun? The stars, the moon?
    So easy, girl, just heed my croon
    And as your smiles my eyes imbue
    You’ll glean reflections there of... you.




    Then clicked again and the note was a bit higher,
    Hey what’s that, I asked?
    When you finished bending and then unbending with laughter
    you enlightened me with a grimace –
    I had a root canal treatment, a hollow tooth sounds musical, no?
    And an untreated one sounds a bit different,
    and a healthy canine sounds different to a rocking wisdom tooth,
    did you hear it?

    I forced your mouth open,
    Trying different combinations of my teeth
    the better and the worst of them
    Clicking against various of yours
    and registering the sounds, notes, octaves in my brain,
    Then finally, when I believed I had it all mapped correctly
    I asked you to lean your head back on the white pillow,
    Close your eyes,
    Open your mouth just enough for me to gain unlimited access
    And my tongue, lips, teeth started touching your dentistry
    playing a tune of... you are my sunshine.

    You could not laugh,
    Of fear of trapping my tongue and cutting it in two,
    Yet when I finished my original one timely creation
    You sucked my tongue into your mouth for several seconds
    making a sound of clapping hands
    Then relieved me with a question in your eyes
    and lips:
    Why you are my sunshine?
    my mother used to sing it to me, when I was little child.
    I had no answer, really,
    so I answered:
    Because you are my sunshine.

    We played more tunes that night,
    I... on her teeth,
    she... on my skin,
    we... on our hearts.
    When morning finally saved our neighbors
    from the orchestrated howls and yowls and occasional yodels
    She opened wide her mouth
    and asked me what I see there, inside.
    I looked but could not describe...
    ...the sudden sunrise blinded me.



Dry Flowers

    No, not flowers,
    just one – a rose,
    white, immaculate,
    if it wasn’t for those two spots soaked into its fiber
    marking a memory, an oath,
    of a color now dulled into a deep brown
    and once... was it once red?
    or was it once... life?

    Brittle, I dare not touch
    lest it turns into butterfly wing dust
    and mingling its ways with seeds and pollen and spores
    it evades my life
    carrying inside its minuscule particles
    my only memory worth remembering...

    A hand, less wrinkled than mine,
    slowly slides alongside my forearm
    reaches for the withered weft
    and closes around it its fingers,
    sounds of crumbling reaching painfully to my ears
    as traces of dust whiff away from the fiercely clenched fist.

    The bottle of wine, partially empty,
    I seem to recognize it,
    part of that same memory burnt inside the grooves of my brains
    with pieces of red ribbon, and smells of wild incense,
    and symbols strange and incantations sweet and vows eternal,
    how did it materialize on the table beside us?

    I kept it, you say.
    For thirty years?
    And five months and three days, one hour from now.

    You open the deeply embedded cork,
    smell the gaping bottle’s mouth
    closing your eyes dreamily
    and allowing the slight creases at your eye corners to fill up
    with the liquefied ascending vapors... or... are these?...
    then you open your palm and let the sparkling dust pour inside.

    Half a glass for me,
    half a glass for you,
    you keep the bottle upside down for a long time
    almost wringing it for its last drop
    then lay it carefully on the table
    handing me my glass,
    picking yours
    and waiting till both are against our lips before whispering...

    Our love.
    And so much more, I add.
    Yes, eternity, you say.



Your Answer

    Blinking eyes
    And butterflies
    Cling to morning’s chilly air,
    Pouting lips
    Petal tips
    Glint beyond unruly hair,
    Ankles fine
    Crawling vine
    Twist around a rebel ray,
    Fingers thin
    Whisper sin
    Down my chest in wicked play.

    You’ve never been as beautiful as now,
    The morning after,
    The incense sticks burnt out
    The bulky candles still flickering
    Dried rose petals smoldering their refusal to part
    Skin bare of all but irregular traces of salt
    under the glimmer of silver rings.

    Playful tunes
    And whispered runes
    Hide inside the crumpled sheets,
    Touches bold
    Shivers old
    Sculpt off skin ignited bits,
    Dies the roar
    At the door
    When a cheek to shoulder floats,
    Yet they know
    When the glow
    Dies... then sail a thousand boats...

    Sail where? you ask.
    To your beauty’s land.
    And they carry what? you ask.
    Your smile, your fragrance, your skin.
    Is that all? you ask.
    Us, our love, our tomorrow’s sun born of today’s glow.
    You did not ask more.
    You had your answer.



Don’t Worry, A Passing Moment Of Insanity

    The day the story will be told
    And tickets thousands will be sold
    Allowing a platinum chick
    To style her way your so unique
    and tender gold,

    The day a tanned and muscled Joe
    Will wink to gals in second row
    And claim to know my inner heart
    In what is doubtless dollars art
    Yet none will know,

    The day critiques will rave insane
    And hail to skies the shameful bane
    As popcorn youths deny a tear
    And maiden teens new lipstick smear
    Till spot-lights wane,

    No, none will know
    We loved we so,
    The real rage
    In ageless age,
    The mindless crow
    In Raven’s Poe,
    The falling sky,
    The greenest eye,
    The spotless love
    In dove dove dove.



Waking Up

    Sink your face into my pillow
    Tracing pools of fading scent
    Depths of linen wet and rent,
    Eyes beneath your flaming willow
    Sadly spent.

    Warmth ascends a seamless ladder
    Gnawing cracks inside your fist
    Rising like a spiteful mist,
    Sheenless eyes are getting sadder
    Teardrop kissed.

    Barren land of crumpled covers
    Blinding white the desert’s hue
    Burning ash beneath of you,
    In your eyes a shadow hovers
    Soaking dew.

    Sounds?... the sounds of barefoot slapping
    Rushing fore from yonder side
    Bodies, hands and mouths collide,
    Shining eyes my reason snapping
    Deep inside.

    Been you where?... Beyond the ocean...
    Pert your joke... Your tongue’s a knife
    Yet my pouch is presents rife,
    Ribbon’s red and wine’s emotion
    And... my life.



The Color Of Vow

    The words you wished, I sternly thread
    Inside that ribbon’s soothing bed
    To love beyond, above, and more
    than lovers’ footsteps on the shore,

    Forever red.

    The words I wished, you write tonight
    Upon that petal’s silken might
    To love in pain, in joy, in tune
    with lovers’ one and timeless rune,

    Forever white.

    The words we wished, sublime and keen,
    Pervade one breath, one heart, one skin,
    To love, to trust, to share, to sing
    till seasons die in lonesome spring,

    Forever green.




    I have nothing new to tell you
    I love you.
    Like I said yesterday,
    And one hour earlier than yesterday,
    And one hour before that one hour,
    Probably also five minutes ago
    for a whole of five minutes.
    Is there a slot in time in which I did not say it?
    I uncoil the ribbon from around my waist,
    Remove my ring and slide the ribbon through it
    Then bind the ends at the nape of my neck
    the ring inside my mouth
    So it does not fall out when I sleep
    I explain mysteriously
    and climb into bed.

    You are crazy, you say.
    You are crazy.
    Like you said yesterday,
    And one hour earlier than yesterday,
    And one hour before that one hour,
    Probably also five minutes ago
    for a whole of five minutes.
    Is there a slot in time in which you did not say it?
    You uncoil the ribbon from around your waist,
    Remove your ring and slide the ribbon through it
    Then bind the ends at the nape of your neck
    the ring inside your mouth
    So it does not fall out when I sleep
    You explain mysteriously
    and climb into bed.

    You are crazy, I say.
    I love you, you say.

    I wonder who started it,
    Not that it matters,
    I will never wonder who ended it.
    It will never end.



The Pain, The Joy

    The time,
    The moment.

    Tomorrow’s yesterday agonizes,
    its inevitable death celebrated... let there be music!...
    a mountain’s rim dressed in ascending melodious mist,
    a sky’s hem drowning in fires soaking into whimpering clouds,
    an unbreakable promise bonding hands, bonding mouths, bonding hearts...

    I vow... I vow...

    The glory!

    Till yesterday’s tomorrow furiously curls beneath drawn shades
    smashing into spent bodies
    and twined fingers
    and breathless mouths
    cruelly awaking them to the reality of done, beauty, eternal.

    The pain,
    of splitting skin from skin, flesh from flesh, bone from bone,
    clasping pairs of hands turning single clenched fists
    as space invades the artificially created distance
    and steps echo on a marble tiled desert
    and a last glance is blinded by invading tears...

    The joy,
    one life,




    You’re like no one else I have ever met in my life,
    She said,
    And for a moment I felt like Adonis
    Or like Hercules in a steroids liberated world
    Or at the very least like Arnold after a hefty breakfast,
    My present impressive belly crawling way up
    into my once impressive chest.

    You are not handsome,
    She continued,
    And I crossed out Adonis
    letting off a few inches of chest elevation,
    And your flesh isn’t as firm anymore,
    Here goes Hercules
    and my chest sagged some extra inches towards sea level,
    And you have this gap between your front teeth...
    Aha, at least something of Arnold still hangs around
    though the wrong thing in the wrong part of the body.

    She paused,
    Catching her breath
    And making belief she didn’t see the final demise
    of my waist’s line altitude and latitude.
    You know, I could talk lover’s talk –
    Love, trust, friendship, devotion...
    But I won’t...

    Please do, please do... the Arnold leftovers wanted to say
    but I smacked him hard.
    It may be unfair, illogical, out of place and insane
    What I am going to say
    And probably I shouldn’t...

    Please don’t, please don’t... Arnold started pulling the other way
    and I almost followed
    till I looked in her eyes.

    Let’s talk about loyalty.
    I was surprised.
    A question,
    Who do you think is today the creature most loyal to me?

    It was a trap, I knew it,
    I should not have answered,
    I should have shut up.
    I moved right into the trap
    and answered.
    Your dogs.
    True. Yesterday. Today?
    I was a bit baffled.
    Yes, today they are my second most loyal friend.

    Today? I repeated idiotically,
    suddenly scared to hear the trap closing
    and cutting my limb,
    my life.
    Yes, today. Today they are second.
    You are first.

    Ever seen the steel of a trap
    turn a flowers garland
    and a heart gain a beat
    and an eye seeing into the secret of first creation?
    You know,
    The loyalty of dogs is immeasurable,
    Nothing as strong, fierce, mindless,
    Till you.
    Now I know.
    I love you.

    I had to change the whole of my shirts’ wardrobe,
    the buttons just kept popping.
    No such problems with my trousers
    though I had to punch some extra holes in my belts,
    they got too loose.
    Then I wrote her a letter.

    You are my football team.
    You are my country.
    You are my religion.

    I don’t know why she smiled,
    I meant every single word of it.



Musings, I Guess

    I threw the mottled ball of paper through a crack between the boards, watching it roll and roll, till it hit the gutter’s mouth and then... a freckled hand snatched it up.

    Claim my body from the merchant dragging it from year to year
    Part of Freaks’n’Damned collection for a running nose to leer
    As the carriage drops a pothole skids my jar from side to side
    And I catch eluding glimpses... branches bud and stars collide...

    You tried to read between the lines, though there were not many of these to read between... Freaks’n’Poets? Could be?

    Sounds your voice like coming yonder from a world called human dreams
    Strange your words and strange your manner when your rhyme my hollow brims
    Does your inkwell’s calloused feather bear your longing’s bastard child
    Or my shallowness of living craves a fire roving wild?

    You chased the wagon’s bouncing trail, broke through the boards, broke through the jar and mounted your horse on the way to somewhere.

    See I ladders into sunset teeming cuddled lover pairs,
    See I promises unbroken flowing up my endless stairs,
    See I dunes from days unspoken rolling pearls down to sea...
    Or... is maid Fata Morgana... never was to never be?...

    I heard the crash, the boards breaking, delicate fingers smashed like steel pistons through the glass, grabbed me by the collar and pulled me out into life.

    “And you knew my heart...” “...I learned it reading questions in your words”,
    “And you sang my song...” “I listened sunrise way through sunset’s birds”,
    “Promises I’ll paint you thousands...” “...Paint the one to make me cry”,
    “Thousands ten of years to rhyme you, one to love you, then to die.”

    Lips, touching ears, claiming the short eternity of a poem’s last stanza and the thousands leading to it... my promise beating in your chest, never to die.



The Last Frontier

    My eyes were fixed to the tiny red spot on the sheet
    My knuckles white with the strain of knotted muscles
    and sinking nails.
    She came out of the shower,
    Rubbing her hair with a white towel,
    Sparks and freckles showering all around her
    as she shook her mane lion wise
    and followed my petrified look.
    She smiled.
    Ask, she said.

    I asked.
    Lovers you had,
    Children you have,
    And a virgin you were tonight?

    She dropped the towel to the floor
    advancing towards me
    and forcing both my hands around her waist
    and both my eyes down her bubbling twin wells.
    My body was never a virgin, she said.
    My heart was... till tonight.




    I rolled on the floor
    in your body’s pain
    I wiped away from my eyes
    your tears
    I turned the music out loud
    to sounds of protesting loudspeakers
    and neighbors
    and tearing eardrums
    so that none shall hear me howling
    your silent scream...

    a voice in the background claims Elvis has left the building
    telling me to load another record
    and roll on
    and cry on
    and scream on.

    I uncurled minutes ago
    and now
    just blew my nose
    and want you to know
    only that
    I’ve never been as happy in my life
    as when I’ve lived this love
    my yesterday with you
    my today with you
    my tomorrow with you
    the only life I’ve ever lived.
    by your side.
    hand in hand into the sun.
    none else matters.
    I love you.




    Teach me your dance step
    Then allow me to follow your footsteps
    Let me hold your left hand
    when you bend over
    and my body tries to cushion the floor for you
    before you pirouette away laughing at my scared look
    and dragging me up from my ridiculous position
    straight into your softness
    Let me hold your right hand
    as you pull me away from the crowds
    away from the walls
    far away from the halls of artificial gaiety
    to that intimate hold where you are the singer
    and the song and the music
    and we dance to you.

    Let me hold... you.




    I listen to Elvis singing songs of love,
    Shuddering at the thought
    He might never have been born
    And neither this beauty
    And the knowledge of it.

    I look at your image
    Shuddering at the thought
    We might never have met
    And never would I have known your beauty
    And the beauty of this love’s




    Claim I none of fame or name
    None of life
    And none of strife
    All I claim is love insane
    While cutting tunnels in the rain...

    Demand I none of bold or gold
    None of stage
    And none of rage
    All I do demand is trace
    Those spots of glory in your grace...

    Pretend I none of rave or brave
    None of dream
    And none of scream
    All I do pretend is cling
    Inside those words around that ring...



So Easy

    Close not your eyes
    Unless you wish to dream of me
    As I will invade your hunger uninvited
    And sate your thirst unasked for
    And when lust drives its nails through you
    My body will be your cross
    And memories of me will cover your nakedness
    the tears pouring from my eyes painting your wings’ feathers
    silver green
    and pointing you to the sun...

    Open not your eyes
    Unless you wish to wake up from the world
    Void of the emptiness of the pillow next to you
    Where flowerless fields are abominable crime
    And love unfulfilled is an unremembered science
    buried under layers of star crust
    the fallout of the latest love story we lived
    forever smoldering inside your chest’s cage
    and inviting visitors
    descending to earth’s fire from the chill of the sun.

    What you can’t forget,
    So easy...




    For a moment
    Thrown back into the infinity of dead time
    and living memories,
    A child
    Pulling at my mother’s sleeve
    and imploring
    “sing, mom, sing...”
    And she would comply
    mid of scrubbing and washing and kneading
    singing me songs of... love,
    Grown up love and pain
    which I soaked with child’s ears
    and adult’s understanding
    and unblinking eyes brimming with my first reality
    of real tears.
    A tremor never to rumble again...

    I found you,
    Somewhere between the past pages
    of the future’s history
    my random choice of page number
    and line down the page
    and word along the line...
    And then I touched you...

    Sitting next to you,
    The humming engine a universe complete
    I and you Adam and Eve
    The tin cabin our Eden
    Your voice...
    “sing, lover, sing...” I implored,
    Words forgotten forever catching wing anew
    in the presence of warmth, and divinity, and love
    And notes pour
    chilling my skin into goosebumps
    and my heart into brittle spider glass
    And I recognize the story
    And I know the love
    And my adult’s ears soak
    with child’s understanding
    the absolutism of love
    now touching me.

    “I am off key,” you apologize.
    “More than you’ll ever know,” I agree
    as your hand approaches my chest
    once more
    sinking beneath shirt, skin, ribs,
    sending your voice’s vibrations
    straight into my blood’s rugged bed.
    “I love you,” someone says
    before your mouth follows suit,
    and then you,
    and then
    “I love you,” no one says
    as one dissipates into we.



Alternate Views

    I open my left eye,
    Life with you...
    green, of jealousy and eyes and sprouting leaves
    red, of anger and love and opening roses
    blue, of pain and clear skies and lilac
    white, of screams and innocence and snowcapped mountains...
    The rainbow of life.

    I open my right eye,
    Life without you...
    the pastel of death.

    I open my left eye.
    Time to get me an eyepatch for the other.


    Brown, what about brown?” you ask, rolling on your back.
    “Not yet,” I respond, “I’m still counting them.”
    I smile,” you say, even though you do not have to, I see it with my one sane left eye. “I guess that whoever doesn’t understand this dialogue will have to go back and read the rest of your poetry,” you add.
    “I pity them,” I say.
    Why?” and I pull my hand hastily back as you shiver at a certain touch, no freckles there I guess... oops...
    “Oops, I spilled the beans...” and I bite my tongue.
    Don’t worry, they won’t understand you and they wouldn’t have read you anyway,” you add maliciously, guiding my finger to an area unexplored yet. And after a few seeconds... “green, of cabbage...” you contribute to my poem exploding in a ticklish laughter.


    yellow, of fear and ribbons and daisy hearts...




    I did not write you a poem today,
    It is lost,
    Because the poem I did not write today
    would not have been the same
    as the one I will write one hour from now
    or five minutes from now,
    or even one minute...
    and no one would ever know what it would have been,
    Forgive me?...


    I remember pictures,
    Simple postcards clicking continuously in my brain,
    And stones one atop another
    balancing the wind precariously,
    And chill penetrating through clothes till we huddled
    into each other’s coats and the chill stayed the same
    but the softness of the moment made us forget,
    Then we chased a lake, they probably dragged it away
    since we never found it,
    And our fingers dug into deep pies
    sticky till we licked each other’s fingertips and palms
    and rings
    and still our palms stuck to each other as we started our way back
    as if the sweet jam penetrated beneath our skin
    and now it was oozing back out to glue us,
    unite us, love us,
    I love you.

    Just postcards,
    Why the hell do I cry?


    I did not write you a poem today,
    I wrote you love today,
    The same I will write one hour from now,
    or five minutes from now,
    or even one minute...
    Eternity is a joke, you know?
    I love you before and after,
    eternity on the mountain,
    eternity huddled,
    eternity sticky fingers,
    I loved you before today, you can’t remember,
    you were not yet born.
    I will love you after tomorrow,
    when I die.
    All I need is postcards.




    My dove, my dove, my dove,
    My love, my only love,
    The words I wish to say
    This rainy day of May
    My dove, my dove, my dove,
    I love you, oh, I love.

    Of course I could invoke my side the gods of phrase and chant
    And relegate your classic scribes to scrapbook’s primal rant,
    Yet while the metaphoric raves besiege your avid mind
    You’d miss the crave so deftly set in paragraphs refined.

    Or I could scheme a modern tune which starts some nowhere lands
    And ends in nonsense ridden flares like other nation’s grand’s,
    Yet while the rounds of loud applause inebriate your ear
    You’d miss the need I wished your way beneath the scrambled cheer.

    I know I’ve done as such my past and I will do again
    Insane the ink inside my brains and scrawling through my pen,
    Yet just this once please let me be the child of meager word
    As simple words inside my chest my love and yearning gird.

    My love, my love, my love,
    My sweet, my dear, my dove,
    The music in my tear
    I wish it to your ear
    My love, my love, my love,
    I love you, oh, my dove.




    I strapped tightly a quill to each of your left hand’s fingers
    losing my way for moments inside silver carvings
    promising eternity,
    Then moved on to your right hand,
    Then worked my way out patiently through each of your toes
    quill after quill after quill... had some problems finding the little one
    as it lay curled and asleep in its dreams of big toes glory...

    You waited,
    Questioning frowns mingling with ticklish giggles
    while you tentatively tensed muscles rippling inside torso,
    shoulders, down forearms,
    sensations greedily reaching those outmost layers of epidermis
    thinly painted on your fingertips
    as tendons started snapping like overtorqued piano wires
    and aftershocks strained on to your calves, ankles, taut toes...

    My travail finally done...
    “Why did you do it all?” you asked,
    “I could never write with my small toes...”
    “You could with all of the others,” I answered confidently,
    “And you never yet tried your small toes,
    I bet they could write your way into your next masterpiece.”
    “My next masterpiece?
    I still have to write my first one.”

    “You wrote your first one,” I answered,
    and for a moment I caught your gaze
    and let you read all the words written on the white of my eyes.
    “I guess I did,” you finally conceded with a shy smile,
    And suddenly stretched your body into one single muscled form,
    no knees no breasts no lips
    lithe and sinewy and powerful
    like a mythical feathered snake
    ready to fly...
    “You know...” you did not say the words,
    sirens were playing the sounds on your vocal cords,
    “You know, instead of writing I could maybe... fly away...”
    your body one uniform mass of throbbing might, squirming dreams...

    I leaned close to your ear
    and whispered back...
    “Isn’t it... the same?”
    collected your tear between my ring and my skin
    then pulled away
    picked up the heavy hammer
    and with one savage blow broke the chain tying you to earth.
    “...fly!... Eagle...”




    We did it wrongly, you said
    And started unfastening the red ribbon.

    The handhold turned into a gargantuan vise grip,
    For a moment I thought it was my muscles’ spasm
    until I realized that the mush at the end of my right arm
    were once my fingers
    now lying paralyzed with fear inside your crushing unrelenting clasp,
    All the while my mind rushing like a throng of insane mice
    inside a mirrors labyrinth
    juggling combinations of ‘wrongly’ and ‘wrong’ and ‘we’ and ‘us’
    an interposed verbs and subtleties and meanings...

    I watched the red coils unwinding,
    The hanging tail getting longer,
    Each turn of your hand striking out one more year
    in my meager life leftovers calendar,
    My back hunching, my shoulders sagging,
    One more loop to go, one more year to live,
    Uncoil the last and death is my prison...
    You knew it too.
    You did not.

    Stand up, you commanded
    in a tone you would command a lost puppy
    and I stood up,
    you next to me
    turned to face me
    then moved slowly sideways
    till your left faced my left.

    Was it imagination... hallucination... or... the purity of magick?...

    Your free hand started fastening our hearts together
    moving in a smooth sewing motion backwards and forwards
    inside my chest, out my back,
    inside your chest, out your back,
    the red wide tapestry of the ribbon sliding effortlessly
    between ribs, muscles, flesh...
    I was frozen, I was burning, I was mighty, immortal, invincible...
    I did not ask you how you did it,
    I knew that in a world of illusion and deception
    only you could do it,
    Now it is done right... heartfasted, you stated matter of factly
    tying the last loop between our lips
    and pulling it tight.

    I could not help myself a thought
    before oblivion took over...
    Eternity is so easy, all it takes is two hearts... flashed my mind.
    And two pairs of lips... was the echo which got lost into my mouth.


    What will you take with you? you asked,
    refusing to let my mush turn back into fingers.

    I took the petal.
    I took the ribbon.
    I took your heart.



Outside, Inside

    I lie in bed on my back,
    A strange bed,
    A wrong bed,
    Wrong pillow wrong sheet wrong creases ironed in the sheet,
    My fingers clasped at the nape of my neck
    with the only other sound...
          other than what?
          other than your voice
    ...that of my dog snoring noisily on his “I am Superdog” rug,
    And my physiography, morphology, skyline... call it whatever you want
    Shamelessly responding to diamond sharp images of you
    Which I start retrieving from those otherwise impenetrable
    grey celled vaults of my brain...

    You sitting on me,
    You lying on me,
    You sleeping on me,
    You picking up the sharp end of a feather
    and scratching your life story all over my skin...
          I did no such thing.
          Sorry, wishful thinking.
          You should start taking those ginseng balboa memory pills...
          and you explode in that crystalline windchime laughter
          which only we two understand.
          I do not mind though... scratching my poetry all over your skin.
          You did already.
          I did?
          Hey, about that ginseng balboa...
          The tiny fist hits my belly button
          exits my back
          goes all the way through the mattress
          and leaves a dent on the floor.
          This should teach you some respect,
          you drool, licking your smarting knuckles
          then licking my sore spot.
          I know I did...
          (yeah, sure... thinking it this time, not daring saying it out loud)
          I can even read it back to you...
          and you start reading... love, love, love, love, love...
          (oh, gulp, you do remember...)
    I squirm,
    My heart adding a third voice to the chorus
    as it starts shoving bucketfuls of adrenalin through my veins
    mixing it with the strange awakening of my body’s chemistry
    while souvenirs of fermenting feminine fragrances
    shoot through the nerve ends of my nostrils
    and muscles stretch tendons stretch bones stretch...
          do you wish me my love?
          do I wish death without you?...
    You, limpid, loose like a wringed cloth sprawled all over me,
    I, soft, like a piece of molten metal,
          Chests slowly deflating
          Lips searching each other like newborns for a mother’s nipple,
          No... we did not break any bones this time either
          as we unclench fingers and check each other’s carefully.
          Sorry I hit you... you murmur.
          I had it coming, I respond.
          and windchimes fill again the emptiness of my skull’s caverns.
          Will you be back tomorrow?
          I love you.
          What better answer?...
    I succeed to pull together all the broken pieces of my anatomy
    and my geography and my topology
    the skyline flattened into rubble by the morning’s earthquake,
    And for the shortest of moments the bed is my friend.

    She is back tomorrow,
    I smile.
    She never left.



Philosophies In Grey

    Tell me about grey,
    you asked,
    watching grey flakes of snow
    covering grey bunches of lilac
    under a grey palm tree mid of a grey desert.
    Hey, your colors... they are all wrong... I think,
    you then complained,
    reading me.
    My colors... they are all right,
    grey... is wrong,
    I answered
    taking off your nose the solar eclipse viewing glasses
    asking you to open your eyes
    and offering you one red rose.
    What is this?
    you asked,
    watching intently the dissonant patch in your hand,
    There is an unfamiliar stain on this flower.
    I answered,
    is color.
    is beauty.

    I left, taking your glasses with me.
    It takes time getting used to color red.


    Tell me about grey,
    you asked,
    pointing to coal
    and to snow
    and to clouds
    and to mist
    and to old Laurel and Hardy movies...
    This time I made sure you did not buy other glasses
    and your eyes were open
    and the rose was still alive... it was, you watered it daily.
    I washed off the coal from my face
    brushed away the snow from the emerging buds
    waited cuddled in a blanket together with you
    till the wind dispersed the mist and chased the clouds beyond earth
    then we laughed at Laurel poking Hardy in the eye...
    grey can be sometimes... happy.
    What do I see?
    you asked in bewonderment
    missing the cheek and poking me in the eye... laughing...
    was it on purpose?...
    then tried to taste the bud
    and finally blew your lungs out trying to get rid
    of a stubborn cumulonimbus smudge
    after your groping hand failed to reach it.
    Is there more like this out here?
    I answered,
    is color.
    is beauty.

    I left you under the blanket, uncertain if glowering or glowing.
    It takes time getting used to color pink, and green, and blue, and happy grey.


    Tell me about grey,
    you asked,
    combing out single hairs
    pale grey tones setting in them
    ignoring passion life tears.
    I took the comb from your hand
    and sorted them out myself
    then picked up a pen with red ink which you knew by now
    and wrote spiral wise a poem
    on the first one
    from the root to the split end.
    What are you doing?
    you asked,
    more curious than wondering
    as I kept repeating my actions
    and then returning each finished hair back to its place.
    Writing poems,
    each one different.
    Will you read them to me?
    No, you will have to imagine them.
    Then they are lost.
    No, they are treasured.
    Do you have so many poems?
    Yes, where there is color and there is beauty there is poems.
    Do you see color and beauty in my hair?
    and I watched you pout.
    Is there going to be color in this stanza too?
    you asked quietly, not pouting anymore, just hoping.
    I picked up the big standing mirror
    put in front of you
    and watched you watching you.
    I answered,
    is color.
    is beauty.

    I left, my last glimpse of you that of a creeping smile up your face.
    It takes time getting used to color beauty.



Feminine Intuition

    You know what I wish to do
    most than all
    right now?
    Make love to me?
    Dance with you.
    You miss the rest of my toes?
    The rest of your toes?
    Yes, the leftovers,
    Those you did not yet crush...
    chuckle again.
    I hesitate, then decide not to pout.
    I did no such thing.
    You surely did NOT once you let ME lead.
    I kissed her, letting her lead me into jointless dimensions...
    I love you.
    I love you.

    You know what my second strongest wish is
    right now?
    Make love to me?
    You sure have a one track mind, woman.
    No, my second strongest wish right now
    is to hear you... sing.
    I think I saw a bit of rain in her eyes...
    Remember turning to stone?...
    That was when I was singing.
    And your dog howling...
    It was a bad connection,
    He apologized later.
    Are you sure?
    I am... and I clamped hard on my dog’s muzzle.
    I kissed her, letting her sing me into fluid dimensions...
    I love you.
    I love you.

    And do you know what my third strongest wish is?
    Right now?
    Right now.
    Make love to me?
    This was a real blow to my male pride.
    Hey, how did you guess?
    She unclamped my hand from the dog’s muzzle
    and clamped it on her breast
    smiling at the heart wrenching howl.
    Still apologizing, huh?...
    Then she led me to the floor singing in my ear
    Just call it feminine intuition.
    I kissed her, letting her love me into nothingness dimensions...
    I love you.
    I love you.



Achilles Retold

    Steel clad
    Helmet, pauldron, hauberk, gauntlets, greaves,
    Fire tongues lashing irregularly through beaver’s dense grate,

    My eyes feeding me the mirage
    same as the rest of the armed throngs
    howling around her in illustrious nescience
    My fingers tense on the taut cord
    My arrow sharp to invisible point...
    “Your eye, your mouth, your heart, your heel?...
    Which is your Achilles gate of passage, warrior?”

    A finger pointed my way majestically
    She singled me out of the squirming mass
    squashing my arrow’s head with one bared finger
    You... you only
    will see the inner of me...

    and she handed me the feather.

    “And they?” pointing to the roaming armies.
    Trapped in their mirage.
    “Why I?”
    Because your anger is slow yet sharp, your muscle is lean yet hard,
    your heart is tender yet tender.

    She stopped.
    And your fingers...
    “And my fingers?”
    ...can paint ink at the end of a feather.

    I picked the feather and dragged a ragged line down her armor
    head to toe.
    The line cracked.
    I looked around
    as blinded by their lust and delirium
    none of the chanting hordes saw the pale glimmer underneath
    Vicious arrows randomly penetrating the crack
    and turning... sunflowers?...
    I traced another line, another crack,
    Then another,
    The frenzy in my movements growing,
    I dropped my irons... my plates, my bow, my glaive,
    Long slices of thin steel peeling down at the tips of my fingers
    like unfolding sepals uncovering unborn petals
    creased with birth’s long sleep,
    The pile at her feet growing,
    My tired arm slowing,
    The paleness of her skin glowing...
    ...skin?... flesh?... woman?...

    My ignoble deed done,
    Naked to me,
    Only the mirage of steel between her and unabating fury...
    My Achilles gate of passage, warrior?
    The whole of me
    and only you to know it.


    Embarrassed, anxious, hesitating,
    I started dressing her up
    in the intricate texture flowing out the arrow-sharp end
    of her feather.
    Only once I pricked her skin.
    “Your blood is blue,” I said.
    You are writing it, she answered.

    The world raged.
    We loved.




    Under eyelashes
    Like a twin guillotine caught in its most horrible of nightmares...
    ...slowly grinding to a deadly halt
    before reaching its deadly goal...

    Till finally the blink completes
    and the lash cuts through the miles long steel wire
    binding our gaze.

    I almost expect hearing the zinggg of the unleashed wire’s coils
    squirming all the way from your eye to mine
    and then biting its tail whip inside my cheek
    down to the bone.
    I see the flush deepening on your face...
    ...did it bite you?... I ask
    and your teeth sew my lips into a triple seam of silence
    as the vise of your groin splits my spine
    and the gimlet piercing your body
    evicts the scream forged in your lungs
    excruciating the hospitality of your insides
    and awakening grim grins of envy from authorities perched high
    on the Olympus kingdom.

    Under eyelashes
    The chrysanthemums hanging heavily at the end of each undulated hair
    forcing your lash muscles to strain tearily
    as they drag the kaleidoscopic load upwards
    Till the destiny of that last piece of sigh forgotten inside your lungs
    becomes as clear as the clear patch of meadow uncovered in your eyes
    and reflecting those of my flames still dying lambent on our lips...
    ...sigh?... you sigh.

    You are my sunshine, I say.
    I know this song, you say.
    You are my sunshine, I say.
    I know, you say.

    Your next blink unravels itself
    and the chrysanthemums turn chrysalides turn chrysograph
    as butterflies paint golden symbols underneath your eyes
    with spidery legs dipped in the pollen of your dying storm
    telling a story of love which just ended to begin.
    Let me read it to you, I say,
    reading without waiting for your answer
    busy as you are blinking swarms of butterflies into the world.

    Past beyond uncharted pathways lost through desert’s brainless miles
    Where forgotten words unspoken shed unbirthed budding smiles
    Love undying you will harvest when the gold inside your ink
    Paints a bud into a flower into one and only blink.

    You blink.
    One and only.
    You painted, you say.
    I harvest, I say.
    I love you, we say.



Erotoismically, Partly

    or Shalosh Peamim Chi Chai

    or Scrambled

    after screaming my name...

    my shoulders aching for relief from the fangs...
    no!... I objected loudly
    against my better judgment
    just as you started pulling your canines out
    no!... I kissed in your ear
    listening to your wheezing nasal breath fading away
    the hard concrete of my bulk
    sinking into the hard concrete of your shape
    mingling into one colossal mess of bubbling matter
    and the banging fists
    asking to be relieved from the caverns of our hearts
    finally resigning to being walled forever
    each closing the valve to its own privacy
    and nothing rested of that eternal moment
    except for those canines
    deeply implanted
    inside the muscle of my shoulder.


    holding my finger inside your fist

    locked on my... your ring
    and pulling me up the stairs
    I following your undulating flesh
    to be offered a willing sacrifice
    to the slaughtering ceremony of my fantasies and lives and loves
    of past present and future
    all but the fantasy and live and love
    of past present and future
    holding my finger inside her fist
    locked on my... her... your ring
    dropping my shivering flesh on the soft altar of the creaking bed
    and anchoring inside my chest the umbilical cord
    unseverable from that placenta in turmoil
    boiling in your breast
    and... heart.


    the clicking lock

    the bursting light bulb
    the beasts undefined
    impatiently growling at civilization’s attempts to leash life
    inside seams and buttons and cotton and lace
    unable to withstand claws and fangs and damnation’s tempest
    when we cut through each other’s impenetrable shield
    fingers rigidly locking into one connubial savage spasm
    thigh muscles clenching to thigh muscles
    clenching to thigh muscles clenching to thigh muscles
    bellies petrified
    mouths obeying the laws of lust... love
    unable unwilling unwillingly untangling tongues threshing wildly
    like a snake’s tail its head on fire
    its lust... love worthy of the blazing death
    climbing inside bursting veins
    and twitching lungs
    and smoldering lava spit leftovers.




    I touch your skin with the back of my palm,
    sliding softly,
    Then lower my freshly cut fingernail ends
    till they scoop a thin layer of dry epidermis
    as they run up against the skin’s natural grain,
    And untrodden tunnels between your skin and your flesh
    fill up swiftly with chills
    mindlessly following the Pied Piper swish
    of long brittle slivers
    penetrating and sinking
    between nails’ plate and nails’ bed and heart’s yearn
    and singing love ballads along deepening groves...

    Are you always so tender after lovemaking? you ask.
    I am... always, I answer.
    Are you? you ask.
    Think, I urge.

    You don’t answer for hours, then days, then...
    Are you still thinking? I ask, worried.
    You don’t answer for hours, then days, then...
    Are you still thinking? I ask, worried.
    Thinking about what, my love?
    About... tenderness, I answer, uncertain.
    Oh, I know about it, my love,
    I was just wondering if you knew about it, you answer.

    Something in the dialogue is escaping me,
    I am not sure if it is a logical flaw or...
    You are cute when your forehead wrinkles this way,
    you smile up at me
    and roll around exposing an ungleaned path of skin
    to the exploration of my bleeding fingernails.
    I have been counting,
    we have not made love for weeks.
    Whatever the logic, I had my answer by now.
    I guess that you... always had it.



Whichever Heart

    There is a certain melody in my head,
    Thickly flowing, invasive, haunting,
    I know not its words, it has none,
    I know its destination, it has one,
    My heart.

    I try to capture the sense of the sound
    My brain a mixture of pitches and scales
    And harmonic and pentatonic and melodic
    And an abnormal nine scaled staff residing in
    My heart.

    Listen to my fingers typing these lines...
    Do you hear the beauty in the randomness
    Of chaos as it tries to settle inside the holes
    Liberated by notes knocked out of the hum of
    My heart?

    The limping sound reaches for recognition,
    Its spidery unformed hands pleading,
    Whirlpools of sensations turning wishful yearns
    Into colorful splinters cutting highways inside
    My heart.

    Wait! I say the one word as my hand shoots out
    And takes hold of elbow and arm and body
    And the vibrations of unwordable euphonies
    Sink silently down the unfathomable abyss of
    Your heart.


    The songs you draped in glitter drops
    Pervade abysmal depths unsung
    To glean abundant sunlit crops
    And spill your love upon my tongue.

    Beneath arcades of paths unkind
    Red tulips hang in mirthful pose
    And spill sweet beads inside my mind
    Till wail turns trill and weed turns rose.

    A lament’s bashful word succumbs
    To plodding passion laden verse
    And bubbling smiles sip laughter crumbs
    As gleaming eyes your gaze rehearse.

    An eagerness as none renown
    Descends with eve beneath my lip
    Where lilacs blue in pain have grown
    Awaiting for your mouth to rip.

    Oh, let your heart my heart alight
    And let my heart your heart enrich
    Then sing me life throughout my night
    Then let my song your life bewitch.




    I saw words you wrote,
    Simple, clear, I love you.

    I promised myself to answer when I wake up from the dream,
    wishing myself to sleep longer
    afraid to wake up from the dream
    and find out it was a dream.

    I was doomed to not keep my promise,
    I did not wake up.
    One does not wake up from no dream.

    Too tired to understand my own philosophy
    I broke my promise and answered.
    I love you.



Artifacts Of Love

    I will carve new psalms of glory
    In your body’s yielding quarry,
    Sparkling dust your lungs will nourish,
    Daisies in your eyes will flourish,
    Stifled moans in lips incising
    Love’s emblazing oratory.

    Bones and flesh the godly easel
    Holding skin against the chisel
    Of my strolling playful fingers,
    In your nostrils lilac lingers
    From those squashed one thousand bunches
    And you dance into the drizzle.

    In your mouth my tongue will saunter
    Bragging like a cocky vaunter
    As it builds a blazing castle,
    Soft your touch, your whisper gracile
    Yet your teeth bite like a grapple
    When your smile turns laughing flaunter.

    With those nipples rude and vicious
    Let me knead pastries delicious
    In a mist of wine and honey
    Soaking freckles pale and sunny
    From those mires unforgotten
    Depth of magic surreptitious.

    Through... ...sweet lover, wait a little,
    Fore you cut, and paint, and whittle,
    Is it your declared ambition
    Trace a path to my perdition,
    Rend me soft and lithe yet brittle?...

    Lover sweet, this ain’t a riddle,
    Through your out and in and middle
    Art will pour its raging torrent,
    You and I will pledge this warrant
    Long as bridges share the fire
    Love will play its timeless fiddle...




    Why don’t you write about lunch?”
    she asked, munching,
    The amorphous soft mush in her mouth visible shortly
    and my only wish at that moment was to be part of that mush
    and write about it while slowly being quashed into shapeless glut
    sliding down her throat and discovering virginal landscapes
    no man before me did...
    I, the explorer, the discoverer, veneered by generations to come
    for being the first and only of modern adventurers
    to trace the paths of love and die in action.
    I smiled.
    “I love you,” I said.

    She misinterpreted both my smile and my words
    continuing enthusiastically
    inside a shower of crumbs and salivated particles
    spraying on hands clenched on the table in front of us.
    The crush of that handhold...
    turbojet noise penetrating regularly through the thick windows.
    I squeezed my leg against the suitcase at my foot
    to prevent it from trembling
    and hoping to die.
    “Everyone thinks mornings and breakfasts are so cool...
    sunrise, flowers opening, birds singing, dew... blehhh...”

    and another shower of crumbs and saliva... oh, I loved her...
    “Oh, I love you,” I said.
    She didn’t even hear me.
    “...nobody mentions the ugly swollen eyes, the peeing, the shitting,
    morose housewives, aggressive drivers,
    and the dew... ha... dries leaving corrosive stains on the leaves
    with worms eating their way inside the chlorophyll trove... brrr...”

    She shuddered.
    I don’t think she shuddered at the mental image she used
    as her fingers kept mauling mine
    and rolling the ring around my finger.
    “...now candles dinner... pffft...”
    I tried to catch one of the bigger crumbs with my teeth...
    “...mosquitoes buzzing around the candle light
    sometimes the poor things fizzling in the flame, sunset ‘eye ee’...”

    she was verbally trying to say i.e. ...
    “...’eye ee’ death, followed by sex...”
    “Nothing wrong with sex...”
    “...surely not, but why glorify the dinner around it?...”
    “Before it.”
    I was trying to be funny,
    I was in pain,
    She was in pain,
    We were in pain.

    “Lunch on the other hand...”
    “I just wrote it, ‘Lunch’.”
    “You did what? You did? When?”
    “Just now.
    You asked for it.
    I wrote it.
    You asked. I did. I do.”

    There was not enough glitter in the world to fill up
    that abyss of that green inside those eyes.
    Yet, somehow, there was.
    It even overflowed.
    “I am sorry, I shouldn’t cry, I shouldn’t cry,
    I am sorry...”
    she repeated. She broke my heart.
    “You never need tell me you are sorry,” I breathed in her ear,
    “unless when you know it will... not be accepted.”
    She pulled away violently
    closing her fist, ready to strike.
    “It’s never,” she raged.
    “It’s human,” I philosophized.
    “It’s never,” she raged again.
    “I did say never,” I concurred,
    Knowing what both of us meant
    Sinking into that terrible pain you can inflict
    only upon those who love you the most
    unable to calm, to curb, to soothe.
    “I am sorry...” I added
    and she exploded in a heart wrenching laughter
    the glitter underneath her eyes staining my cheeks.
    “You cry,” she said.
    “I don’t,” I lied.

    How long did we hug?
    The security officer shuffling his legs impatiently,
    The queue behind us more patient than officialdom.
    “Wait...” she tore a corner of my newspaper and scribbled hastily
    I pulled it away from her and scribbled next to it
    She pulled it back
    forever never...
    A few polite, some more some less, coughs down the queue
    pulled us unceremoniously back from our developing penpalship.

    I ripped her lips... did she rip mine?...
    I asked myself hiding inside my aisle seat
    refusing to swallow the few crumbs I culled from her mouth
    and the few ice-tea flavored saliva drops
    and unmistakable vestiges of her hue of lipstick...
    And I kept rolling them in my mouth
    till the biological wonders of enzymes and sugars and bacteria
    melted them all into non existence.
    I still wondered how did the inexistent shapeless mass reach my eyes
    when I smelt lipstick flavors rolling down long that infernal cavity
    between cheek and nose.
    Guess I cried.




    Her eyes were brimming with tiny blue lilac flowers,
    The black hole of pupil unable to absorb the flood
    as the green forest of iris started submerging.
    Then the dams burst.

    I watched closely,
    The tide of four petalled cups reaching to our ankles,
    Then to our shins,
    Our knees,
    Then... half thigh high I spotted it... the three petalled one
    and my fingers snatched it from the corner of her lip
    like a cobra striking for life.

    I held it between thumb and forefinger
    looking at it intently
    gravitation vainly trying to pull it away from my hold,
    fighting over it,
    then I closed my eyes, spit on it and threw it inside my shirt.
    “What are you doing?” she asked,
    the fragrant sea around us reaching by now to our chests.
    “This is what I did as a kid,
    hunting for the three petalled flower
    making a wish
    and making sure it comes true.”
    “Did any of them come true?”
    “I found you, didn’t I?”

    The flood turned to a tide, reaching our neck.
    “What did you wish for now?” she asked.
    I refused to say.
    I clammed up stubbornly.
    “My body?”
    “I have it.”
    “My love?”
    “I have it.”
    She hesitated before throwing her last flame in.
    “I have you, don’t I?”
    Just the hissing sound of flowing flowers singing in our ears,
    The valleys beneath us full,
    The fields around us flooded,
    The sea reached our chins.
    “Tell me, before we drown in beauty...” she pleaded.
    “Maybe we should drown in beauty,” I said.
    “I wish to live in beauty,” she answered,
    “please tell me...” flowers starting to pour into her mouth,
    “...what of me you wished?”
    I hesitated. I said.
    “Your pain,” I said.
    The flood stopped, little eddies playing around our lips.
    A few crystals rolled from her eyes
    replacing the lilac flood
    then they stopped.
    “You love me, you know?”
    “I love you, you know?”



What Better Answer?

    In your car,
    The phone to your ear,
    Your favorite song playing and you singing along.

    In my chair,
    The phone to my ear
    eyes closed
    heartbeat inexistent,
    the only sense alive... my hearing
    and those flowing vowels and syllables and notes
    the unprofessional beauty of love sung
    of audible breath breaks
    and inaudible subliminal whispers...
    I love you... you did not whisper, you thought.

    I hear your thinking, I thought back.
    You did not answer, just kept on singing.
    What better answer?



Moments, Simple

    Young woman...
    I am woman, I ain’t no young.
    Just what I was saying.
    She smiled.
    And you know my age.

    I know some stars, millions of years old,
    They are still young.
    I ain’t no star.
    I looked at her askance. She laughed.
    OK, I ain’t a star...
    the a exploding like a cannonball full of flowers.
    True, you are woman, more than a star.
    And less.
    Yeah, less in age, thus younger.
    Less in warmth...
    Watch it!...
    ...thus approachable, otherwise I would burn to death.
    You don’t want to burn to death in me?
    I want to burn to life in you...

    I was leaning against the bed’s headboard,
    She was leaning against my chest.
    Naked. Both of us.
    Young woman... I picked up where I left off earlier on,
    Yes, young man!
    This was an unexpected jab.
    I didn’t mean to be a wise guy.
    Neither did I mean to be a wise girl.
    I couldn’t see her eyes
    drowning as I was in that flaming hair,
    Was there the bubble of mocking laughter hiding in that voice?
    I sneaked swiftly from underneath her,
    Lay on top of her pinning her arms to the mattress
    and looked into her eyes.
    Terrible mistake.
    She did not mean to be a wise girl
    and there was no bubbling mockery growing in there.
    She started turning into a star.
    I started burning.




    point a stiff forefinger to the middle of my forehead
    rest of fingers tight against the palm of your hand,
    your head at a slant,
    your thumb bending upwards cocking the shot in one smooth move
    left eye closed, right aiming
    pull the trigger slowly... pow!

    the tunnel crossing my head front to back
    shrieking of emptying life
    as inarticulate limbs join a deflating chest
    hitting the ground with a short dry thud.

    courageous, aren’t you? you ask
    pointing the finger
    cocking the thumb
    pulling the trigger slowly...
    I close my eyes waiting for the train to hit me...
    why do the rest of fingers start unfolding
    one after the other
    the thumb relaxes
    the gun turns palm turns flesh sliding across my scalp
    down my nape
    to back of neck
    where it rests tightening clenching pulling
    till my forehead meets yours
    and my reluctant mouth gives up the cry of agony
    for the cry of ecstasy as lips teeth tongues merge
    and death ensues...

    a much nicer way to die, don’t you think? you ask.
    didn’t know it exists, I answer.
    now, that you know?...

    I waited the years
    till physical death reached over
    greeting me,
    asking you again for a last time kiss
    after so many passed killing me, killing me, killing me...
    then finally I answered the answer you knew of long
    and I never voiced.

    the only way to die.

    I died.



Reflections, One

    in collection: mirrors

    I kept trying to catch myself in back of the mirror,
    looking at my face then... rushing to the back
    trying to surprise me... never succeeding.

    Finally she got tired of me... my lover, not my image,
    turned the mirror around and threw me on the bed
    making love like an enraged animal,
    so beautiful...

    She fell asleep, not hearing the sob on the other side.
    I covered her up to the chin
    then turned the mirror around once more,
    offering my image a cigarette.

    Sorry, my brother, I will share with you everything I have
    but... not my love.
    It pained me terribly as he insisted,
    he cried and tried to reach out to her.
    I shot him.

    I watched the shards reflecting pieces of me,
    slowly sliding underneath a puddle collecting my blood.



Reflections, Two

    in collection: mirrors

    She came in through the bathroom mirror...
    as Joe Cocker would have said,
    Sneaked into the tiny water pellets pummeling my body
    abusing my human frailty and fancy
    and making disembodied love to every piece of dripping skin.

    I could have killed her, easily, my hand on the tap’s handle... shivering...
    I let her make love to me a million times a million drops
    feeling her as she gathered herself into one enveloping liquid skin
    pulling away from my body yet sticking to my mouth
    till finally she succumbed to her race’s call
    disappearing back into the mirror.

    Nobody believed me.
    Nobody could explain the twin drops of blood
    one drying on my lip and one fading in between the glass and the silver.



Reflections, Three

    in collection: mirrors

    Her eyes green, her hair fire, her skin speckled snow,
    Hiding behind my reflection
    then from time to time getting close to the glass
    till I could smell her... were there lilacs in this other world?

    I tried to touch her skin, the cold glass wall impenetrable to touch
    yet... I felt her warmth radiating, enveloping.
    Solve the riddle... her lips were forming the words...
    then you can join me.

    I did not even know which riddle I was supposed to solve
    crumbling into a wailing mass against the mirror.
    The riddle of life... she added, pale, wishful, sad.
    There is no life without love I yelled and hit the mirror with my fist.

    The fist fell through, I fell through, I touched her...
    You found it, she shone.
    The gate closed.
    I was home.



Reflections, Four

    in collection: mirrors

    The mirrors started peeling, everywhere.
    She started pulling away from me... I must go, it is the end...
    I looked at her, bewildered. Go? End? Where and what and why?
    Your world is coming to an end, we must flee.
    Same incomprehension in front of her tears... We?
    A few young girls nearby changed in one fluid movement
    into huge butterflies and with a mighty wings flap
    disappeared into the mirrors... gasps... people screaming...

    I felt her hand turning soft, brittle... I refused to let go,
    slender antennae forming on her forehead... Who, what are you?...
    I am the mirror people, we came looking for love,
    your world is ending, we must return...
    she started crying.
    Wait, I screamed in pain, did you find love?
    She stopped. She cuddled into me. The last mirror peeled. She died.



Reflections, Five

    in collection: mirrors

    I rolled the thick mirror into a cone,
    stretched my arm all the way up through the clouds
    and scooped a few of the tinier stars inside...
    they kept burning, reflecting endlessly between the curved surfaces.
    I offered her the sparkling bouquet, admiring her composure.
    There was just a slight tremor to her voice... are you a God?
    I did not laugh, it would have been condescending,
    I preferred to smile as I answered – Gods do not fall in love, men do.
    She accepted the bouquet, holding it to her chest, kissing me lightly.
    So what is it that I saw, men do not glean stars inside mirror cones?
    Men in love will do the strangest of things, I answered,
    Picking from her other hand the popcorn cone
    and crunching exploded seeds between my teeth.
    She kissed me wildly, the mirror shattering to the ground
    and stars rolling all over the city...



Half Hearts

    She gave me half her heart.
    No, not the flesh heart,
    That one she gave me in its entirety
    wrapped in red ribbons, and white roses, and silver vows.
    She gave me half of her other heart,
    The one wrapped in golden memories.

    I lost mine, she told me one day.
    Did you lose your memories? I asked.
    No, just the heart.
    Then you can share mine, I said.
    Your heart or your memories?
    Both, I answered.



The Shop

    You write so beautifully about pain,
    Unfortunately you have so much of it to write.
    You write so beautifully about love,
    Unfortunately you have so little of it to write.

    I did my best to balance
    Giving you oceans of the one...
    Unfortunately a few grains of the other sneaked in,
    So difficult to sift the oceans of so many mixed colorful grains.

    You balanced it your way,
    Writing about both, looking for the solution to the riddle,
    Knowing there is no solution to the riddle.
    Knowing there is pain, and love, and us.


    I have fire stones pouring from the sky in my shop, you said.
    I have gems exploding in my eyes in my shop, you said.
    I have joyful music sometimes sad in my shop, you said.
    Do you have love in your shop? I asked.

    You looked through your books, shelves...
    You don’t know? I wondered.
    I know, I am looking for it, I may have misplaced it.
    Is it so little?
    Much bigger than your ocean, young man.
    So why is it so difficult to find?
    Because I folded it till someone will ask for it.
    Am I the first?
    You are the first to mean it... oh, here it is... you apologized,
    After shamelessly having opened your shirt
    and pointing to your bare breast.
    I was about to leave, blushing.
    Wait, you said, you were looking for love, weren’t you?
    Yes, I answered, my blush deepening.
    You picked my hand and cupped it unceremoniously
    over your left breast.
    Something slid into my palm,
    I pulled my hand back, alarmed.
    Silly man, it is love, you laughed closing your shirt.

    I looked at the small stain sticking to the inside of my palm,
    of undefined color, and size, and shape...
    What is it? I asked
    Love, in its raw state, unkempt, unbridled, untamed.
    Are you a love whisperer?

    A love whisperer? I thought there are only horse whisperers.
    Are you a love whisperer? you repeated.
    I did not answer.
    Are you the love whisperer? you repeated.
    I knew it was the third time and last.
    I neared the open palm to my face, eyeing the stain closely.
    It seemed to change color and size and shape slowly, continuously.
    I neared my lips to it and I whispered
    jerking my head back as it unfolded once along its middle
    doubling in size.
    I whispered again, it unfolded again.
    Is there an end? I asked, after doing it for a third time.
    I don’t know, no one whispered to it before, you answered.
    I stopped asking
    whispering again, and again, and again...

    The stain grew into a field, then it turned into a forest,
    then turned the size of the world
    painful twitches masking from time to time your sun
    and clawing at my heart...
    ...sorry, wrong whisper...
    ...that’s alright, you are learning...

    It was getting late,
    Night eyes started blinking all around us.
    Are you sure you want me to go on? I dared ask.
    Can you?
    I can.
    So can I.


    Long past time for shops to close.
    I tried to pay, you refused,
    This is your shop, I insisted.
    This is our home, you answered, adding
    This is our love,
    I guess that one day we will fill the universe.

    I wonder, does the universe have an end?
    I did not wait for an answer, there was none and one, only.
    I just kept on whispering.



Body Dimensions

    You stretched your arms to your sides
    and started turning around and around...
    What are you doing?
    Defining the size of my world,
    This is it,

    and you kept turning.
    It looks crowded, so full with you,
    Will I fit in?
    It is up to you, I can make place,
    Do you mind if you are a bit squashed,
    sometimes trodden on your toes,
    smelling my bodily odors,
    rubbing into my sweating flesh,
    listening to my anguished cries?

    Will you accept me in if I say No?
    Will you accept me in if I say Yes?
    Will you accept me in if you don’t know my answer?

    We started undressing almost at the same moment
    The only place I can offer is close to my skin,
    you said, and I already knew it,
    Every other cubic inch taken with life,
    The thickness of your clothes taken with dreams.
    You honor me with the most valuable space in your world.
    No, I offer you the most valuable space in my world,
    It is up to you to accept it.

    We finished undressing
    tossing our clothes far beyond world’s edge
    Then I approached you, hugged you
    and started turning together with you.
    It was crowded there in the dream landscapes close to your skin,
    so many colors, words, I even heard music...
    was it your heart or mine?

    You squashed me,
    trod on my toes
    your bodily odors filling my lungs
    your sweat burning into my cuts
    your anguished cries dying inside my mouth.
    I said Yes.
    I know.

    I clothed your skin with my dreams
    as yours started clothing mine.
    We never became aware of the sunset.
    Isn’t sunset the time when worlds end?
    Isn’t sunset the time when dreams begin?




    Let my fingers smear
    your tear
    Let my whispers lick
    your cheek
    And while craves my reason shear
    Glimmers shy through sorrows peek.

    I smeared your mascara long your nose,
    my forefinger sinking into the swelling tears-pregnant blob
    and dragging it into a valley of blues, and greens, and violets,
    the splash forming tiny powdery stalactites between your lips.
    I whispered... only you heard my whisper... against your cheek
    and the colorful creek dried,
    minuscule flowers exploding beneath your eyes,
    petals the thickness of skin fluttering in the breathing breeze
    and floating down inside your mouth
    to finally die inside the forests of your lungs.

    Happiness? Maybe.
    Love? Certainly.
    Dreams? Beauty.

    As my knuckles dry
    your eye
    And my touches test
    your breast
    Sprouts the answer to your why
    As you smile into my nest.



The Skin Will

    Picking one hair,
    The fire cutting through my fingers as I knot it to another one,
    Then to another...
    ...by the time you are finished I will be completely bald... you giggle,
    Then to another one, I don’t need many...

    I take your hand, fingers twined tight,
    and start rolling the knotty string around our pale skin,
    round, and round, and round...

    I’ve never seen such handfasting... you rhyme.
    I’ve never loved, I say, waiting.
    I’ve never seen love, you rhyme.
    I’ve never loved, I say, waiting.
    I love you, you rhyme.
    I always did, I say.

    The thin fire line melts underneath our skin,
    sinking in the flesh,
    leaving one unending rolling scar.
    Will it ever heal? you ask.
    Yes, I answer, the skin will.




    I kept talking and she kept yawning.
    Then we changed roles
    She kept talking and she kept yawning.
    No, not fully symmetrical, I know,
    Though hilarious.
    “Sorry...” she yawned again
    mid of an exciting tale of cops and robbers and guns.
    “Thank you,” I said, “for telling me how boring I am,”
    a smile as wide as the Mississippi at its widest
    spreading on my face.
    She couldn’t see it,
    slumped as she was in her car’s seat
    a few miles (three thousand of them) away.
    “Oh, I am just...” yawn... “tired.”

    The yawning distance in minutes between the above just
    and the following tired was on the order of roughly sixty.
    Sixty minutes, mind you, or about an hour in international terms.
    I watched the dollars clicking off the phone counter,
    another one, and another one,
    while waiting patiently for the tired to be phrased,
    the soft breathing and occasional snore or snort or whatever
    traveling the wire distance to my ear in parts of a second
    and I still found it too slow.
    I closed my eyes, imagining the picture,
    wading in happiness.
    “You know, you paid me the biggest compliment a lover could pay,”
    I said,
    “You fell asleep on me.”
    “I did not...” her voice slurred, guess her eyes slurred too
    and she was just wondering why.
    “And why would it be, not that I admit to it,
    why would it be a copliment?” she continued,
    the missing ‘m’ not a typo, it was missing on her tongue.
    only when you admit to being loved the way I claim to love,
    you allow yourself to yawn and to slur and to fall asleep
    in the middle of a conversation.”
    “I did nothing of the kind...” I heard the car’s door closing
    and the legs shuffling towards the house,
    “and you are an ipertinent lover...” here it goes, the ‘m’ again,
    “and if you were not so far away...”
    a worrying quiet followed...
    “Hey, don’t fall asleep, not yet, please...” I shouted in her earpiece
    and moments later I heard a thump, a soft one.
    “Hey, and you don’t have to shout me deaf, silly” she complained,
    “I just lay down a bit to take a rest...”

    First she yawns,
    Then she calls me silly...
    Talking about love declarations...

    It was a cheap connection,
    I let my phone open for hours
    just listening to heaven singing praise hymns
    through her stuffed nostrils,
    then I finally blew a kiss she would never hear and closed the line.
    Yeap, I think she knows.
    I love her.




    Combing the strands of time,
    Mental fingers sinking deep in the abundant moments
    An accommodating silky feeling caressing their ends, knuckles
    as they scoop handfuls of long undulating hair
    impregnated with stars, cosmic dust, memories.

    Fingers open slightly
    sifting out lust, passion, even love,
    Watching them fall in a continuous blinking glitter
    into the hungry mouth of yesterday,
    disappearing, gone.
    Even love? then what is left? your eyes big, green, devastating.
    I let my fingers parade their choice in front of my senses
    abstractedly pinning each item like a prize butterfly
    inside a golden box...

    The first regard, touch, kiss, stubborn button,
    The countdown to that terrible moment
    when all I was left with in my hand was a FooFoo soda bottle,
    Losing you, finding you, losing you, finding you
    swearing to die before losing you again,

    Your fingers are quite selective, you say,
    I was worried for a moment when you let lust, passion, love drop out.
    I dropped out the obvious,
    Kept in the subtle.
    There is still lust, passion, love even in the subtle, you smile,
    you did not do a very accurate sifting job.
    I did, I smile back, very accurate.

    I sink my fingers again in yesterday’s fading light
    seeding the glitter of tomorrow’s glory.
    I say... You...
    and let your breath engulf me and my butterflies.



You'll Never Be A June Bride

    Do you mind? I asked her,
    watching her unroll the beauty of red ribbon from our hands.

    I waited for her answer.
    I listened to sounds of orange orchards blossoming
    waiting for the fragile tendrils of invading fragrances
    bathe my skin and rape my senses,
    Then I moved my attention to the sun, long gone,
    the swish of flames falling beneath the sky in a frenzy of rebellious refusal
    drowning in the sputter of igniting stars
    impertinently tasting the wine leftovers on her lips
    and shooting back to me their arrogant sparkle,
    I just started listening to desert’s grains of sand
    sighing in an agitated sleep under the chill of a roving misty blanket...
    When I felt the ribbon rolling around my neck
    and she tugged at the ends... lightly, mind you.

    You do not listen, she complained, singing,
    dragging me back into her skin.
    I do, I answered, helping her tug stronger.
    And what did I say? she insisted.
    You said you will always be a May bride.

    The glitter, painting incredible designs in her eyes.

    I thought you were somewhere else for a moment, she said,
    rolling the rest of the ribbon around her neck, close to mine, tight.
    Tiny voices... the blossoming orange flowers and the falling sun flames
    and the igniting stars and the sighing grains of sand and the...
    asking, pleading, begging me to keep their secret...
    I was, I admitted,
    I was listening to you.

    We did not sleep the rest of that night.
    We listened to the beginning of our life.



Disney Magic

    Let me be your hugging Pooh,
    Sing you songs like gay Baloo,
    Stick the grains of Disney magic to your cheeks with rhyming glue,
    And at midnight’s wailing peal
    Sink my teeth in Miss de Vil
    As your chariot is parting and I scoop your crystal shoe.

    Will you be my crazy Tigger
    Ever silly, always eager
    To glean honey pots from heaven... Why?... I don’t know, go and figure,
    And while I play Cinderella
    And you deal with vile Cruella
    Pluto spills beyond the image as his grin grows ever bigger?

    Or you wish another habit,
    Mickey, Goofy, Roger Rabbit?
    Long as toons bestride your reason and your infant fingers grab it...
    Infant?... Yes, in mind and passion...
    Long as I’m your daily ration
    And your Duchess... dear O’Malley, take my heart, let beauty stab it.

    Bambi turned majestic king,
    Simba wears a royal ring,
    Belle and Beast and Sleeping Beauty cheer King Louie’s jungle swing,
    Yet I’ll keep my mumbo-jumbo
    Flap my ears and be your Dumbo
    And if fly I fail... remember, lay one daisy every spring.



Part I Cularly Silly

    in collection: sillies

    Miss your summer when I’m cold
    Miss your autumn when I’m old
    Miss your winter when I’m dead
    And you send me spring instead.

    Wish me sunshine when I’m cold
    Wish me reason when I’m old
    Wish me daisies when I’m dead
    And you sing me songs instead.

    Dress me naked when I’m cold
    Dress me cotton when I’m old
    Dress me silver when I’m dead
    And you dress me dreams instead.

    Kiss you passion when you’re cold
    Kiss you touches when you’re old
    Kiss you kisses when you’re dead
    And I kiss you love instead.



The Words You Wish To Hear

    you wish to hear the words you wish to hear inside your mouth
    a blizzard leaping tongue to tongue to end your gasping drouth,
    when all to do you have is hear the whispers down your heart
    then trace them, voiced my awkward ways, inside my clumsy art.

    to hear the gulps of budding youth
    of promise pink and vows uncouth
    the crunching sound of broken glass
    from spelling wrong to lack of class
    the growling pup’s asserting drool
    the ramming veal’s almighty bull
    the everlasting sugared love
    in rhyme with glove, above and dove.

    yet... when the night descends uncalled
    and pouring stars your shoulders scald
    you fold your head inside your wing
    then forth and back you swing then swing

    to hear the words you wish to hear
    inside your mouth, your cheek, your tear...
    with you to be till ends the day
    on mustangs black and white and bay
    my naked palm beneath your heel
    to carpet paths to worlds unreal
    and mornings all and morning each
    to bring a sun inside your reach.

    beneath its light let ire ebb, just err alighting naught,
    while songs betraying gods of wroth inside your ring are wrought,
    and while my warbled queer of mind bestrides my clumsy art
    if so you wish you’ll hear the words deep down inside your heart.




    Whisper stranger,
    Let your lyre
    Carpet fields with lush desire
    And when day betrays horizons turn my skin a lusting pyre.

    Rope the beast
    And all its litter,
    Listen to its rage and jitter
    As it claws my bone to marrow growling for its sweet and bitter.

    Hitch a sun
    To tip of finger
    In the softness let it linger
    Till my screams decay to music and the bitch to mournful singer.

    Whisper lover,
    Guide the shiver
    Deep beneath the bulging river,
    Hold my hand, behold my sunrise, as my quake turns lasting quiver.


    Lover dear
    Of lust unspoken
    And of tender love unbroken,
    You’re my heart, my life, my morrow, you’re my Aphrodite token.



Nectar, Playfully

    Lay your head upon my knee
    May this be your entry fee
    To the land of green tomorrows
    Lush in lust and bare of sorrows
    Where a cheeky playful bee
    From your eye its nectar borrows.

    Move it on along my thigh
    Drooling dreams of rawhide rye
    Watching eagle’s mighty swooping
    And a snowbell’s gentle drooping
    As a hummingbird drops by
    From your cheek sweet nectar scooping.

    Linger not around the deli
    On your way up to my belly
    Lambent fires fiercely licking
    Savage mustangs madly kicking
    Yet a grizzly’s heart turns jelly
    From your eyebrows nectar picking.

    Red of hair and white of breast
    Now that you have reached my chest
    Tempest growls through music mellow
    Lightning white through sunrise yellow
    Steals a dragon’s ending quest
    From your throat its nectar bellow.

    There’s my chin and there’s my lip
    Ends your pert and reckless trip
    Through those lands of trilling thunder
    Sigh by me and do not wonder
    When my teeth which rove and rip
    From your mouth love’s nectar plunder.



There, By Your Side

    There, by your side,
    Sinking the anchor in beauty,
    The thick chain around my ankle
    So gentle its vicious hold
    As you sing your siren song to me
    And I leave my ankle behind
    Limping after you.

    There, by your side
    I hide.
    Forgive my love...
    My bride,
    I died.

    There, by your side,
    You let me pass in front of you
    Treading in my steps
    And uncoiling the seaweed creeper from around my body
    Plaiting it with the silver in your bridal gown
    And weaving a crown to my head.

    Your king?
    My wife?

    My ring.
    Your life.



Of Ribbons

    Then I dyed the ribbon red
    Ribbon white I dressed the bed
    And when morning curled undone
    Blinked the sun
    When I said
    I thee wed.

    Ribbons red and white your gown
    Ribbons white and red all town
    White the cheek beyond the lip
    I will strip
    From your crown
    Sunset’s frown.

    Ribbon’s splendor in your hair
    In your eyes the ribbon’s flare
    Clings the green to tearful lake
    In its wake
    Bless my lair
    Lady fair.

    Ribbons hands to ribbons tie
    Ribbons side by ribbons lie
    Don’t forget the sliding dart
    Through my heart
    If you cry
    I will die.

    Ribbons slide through ribbonned sheet
    Ribbonned hearts with ribbons meet
    Twining fingers squash the noon
    Into tune
    Swallows tweet
    Seasons meet.

    Ribbons red and ribbon’s sea
    Ribbons white and ribbon’s spree
    East or west then north or south
    Let your mouth
    Ever be
    Here by me.



May I Pull Them Corners Up?

    I won’t request that you forget
    your sadness,
    Shadows of regret
    bedaubing butterflying wings
    and all those once-upon-a springs
    adorned racemes three rainbows deep
    and one unending nectar’s nip
    Now swollen with one morning’s weep
    and sweat.

    I pray just heed my humble plea
    and listen,
    Hear my raving glee
    before the swish of racing pen
    ascribes to death forget-me-then
    and fills your pages with a lure
    of taste sublime and hues demure
    Suffused with love as crystal pure
    and sea.

    Now take the rhymes I wrote and then
    There’s my hidden glen
    awaiting drunken in its rye
    one rubescent and green-of-eye
    creation sewing words and runes
    and mouth to mouth and lips to tunes
    Forgetting why and where of moons
    and when.



Of Ends

    When I stop writing you
    of love
    You know
    that I may have stopped loving you
    or died.

    I stopped writing you.
    You waited for spring
    and blossoming white lilac
    and picked each single raceme
    Dipped the thin brush on the end of your tongue
    and started painting each single tiny petal
    until all
    were black.

    You refused to tie a black ribbon around the bush.
    You tied the red
    of our vows.
    You knew.