Steady

Slowly, he recalls his steady hands.
Soft and freckled, both of mine could fit comfortably into his one.
Tracing me, he drags his warm hands across the landscape of my body
carefully walking his fingertips over the surface of my skin.
Exploring each curve, he swallows me in the breadth of his palms.
Eyes closed, I ask

If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?

In my mind, I envision
The countrysides of Spain,
the canals of Venice,
and the coves of California.
I absorb myself in his response and am surprised to find
my insides twisted into subtle knots.

Here

he says plainly,
and I'm sure he's been mistaken.
A trick on the ears, on his part or mine.
I choose not to question however,
and quickly lose myself in the shape
that his body makes.

Dearest P. Watson

Your music breaks barriers.
Words can be crossed and body language misinterpreted
But you sing and we all understand.
Years of understanding pour out of you, drawing smiles, uniting hearts.
The expression molded on your face tells of your longing and misery.
We are continents apart, yet I can feel your sorrow as if
it's my own.




In France:
Underneath the sea.

The Corn Factor

The simple fact: I love you. No rhymes or embellishments.
But am I in love with you? Two words and an ocean body apart.
'Am in' dividing me, keeping me from commitment, leading me to the truth.

But I digress and become lost in the shape that your body makes.
So for now, we are safe.
Inseparable until I am honest enough
to leave.

Fleeting

I find happiness on the subway:

Warm and at ease, I let the sunlight engulf me.
Squeezing slowly, I close my eyes, letting the spots dance
beneath my eyelids.

We are all strangers, comfortable as we are tucked under this blanket of silence.
The world rushes by, speeding through tunnels
and I feel nothing.
As if this hub of burgundy seats exists separately from the world
Calm and

detached.


Or maybe I'm a dreamer




And this is really turmoil.

Overheard

"Google has all my life answers."

"My mouth bled like a skyrocket this morning."

"One day, you'll be ugly, and nobody will feed you."

We Used To Vacation

What's the sense in making sense?

I am trapped. By what others tell me I am.
I am glued. By the things they want me to hear.
I stick. Like a mouse to their mould.
I am constrained. By a general understanding of religion.
of time. of hierarchy. of what makes sense.
I am bound. By a history others claim to exist.
I am restricted. By what I know
and especially
By what I don't.
I am alive. I am ignorant. I am knowing.
I am breathing. I see. I am hungry. I am people.
I am your concept, your idea, your perspective
of what the other is.
I am being. I am yours, but I
am not.
I am am am am am
constantly questioning who I am.
Where do my roots grow? and how far.
I am learning.
I am the tie
between her then,
his now,
and our future.