It keeps me up at night
The way you kissed
With your eyes open
Looking into mine,
Slow moving--
And I wonder what changed

It's just living in my mind

I feel the lust in my lungs
When my chest seizes
The burdened breaths
And automated, unintentional heavy sighs;
Always finding myself staring off,
Having zero thoughts, having twenty—all at once,
I’m juggling between what seems logical and what is most certainly
An annoying undercurrent of paranoia

Of course I know best when I’m being ridiculous
I take it harshly, and in absolutes,
Instead of half-truths
I wear them as brandings of my misgivings
And so I can be open and warm,
Until I remember then try to hide myself away, cover up my skin—
All until the false confidence begins again

I never thought I was this insecure,
But maybe I am, but maybe this is normal, maybe this is everyone
Hard to tell when we’re all trying so hard to pretend otherwise

I feel nervous, not knowing 

But then there are these moments

Like the way I made you laugh in the car

And you cupped my cheek in your hand

Or the time you woke up

With your head on my chest

And tilted up to kiss me

Still half asleep

You know you lightly snore

And it is the cutest thing

It’s these things I try to ignore

To not get too attached

To not potentially hurt

But also the things I try to remember

When I wonder if I should be

Hopeful or sentimental

Investing my tender self

I haven't in a long time
But that's not on you
How could you know?
That I was actually gentle, tender and afraid

My heart beats so loudly
And I can't ignore it
I do it to myself
I did this all to myself
I got myself deeper and deeper in
I brought this all on myself

"My ideas were always too big.
My love is always too big.
Too much. I do this to myself.
I should do everything small, sedated."

Teetering on the precipice
Uncertain of which direction
I will tumble damnably down
Careening toward unplanned ventures

I blew out the row of candles
Just like a birthday wish
Pink and red ones
And a single purple one
For good measure--
Necromancing romance
A desire to be desired

Dream II

You told me, "Hey, look at this," and put your hand in mine. I held your hand and leaned in to see a small bite, maybe from a spider. Not wanting to let go just yet, "Oh, yeah," and went to rub it lightly with my thumb. While your hand was resting on mine, your pinky and ring fingers curled and stroked my palm. A little embarrassed for the length of this, I thought to pull away, but somehow we scooted closer, with our knees weaving together.

Dream I

I'm at Mandy's house and although it is morning, she offers me something to drink, asking, "do you want any alcohol?" Smiling and looking mischievous.

6-3-11

Cried for who knows how long until I fell asleep, unbeknownst to her. She left while I was sleeping, half asleep. A good-bye and, "I love you," that I think I dreamed. Now, I'm left alone--did last night happen? It did. Now, I feel, it's the calm before the storm. The eye of the storm. She's gone. I weigh myself, this month's low. Everything feels heavy. I lay in bed naked, with a pillow over my face. I feel something big coming, my bones are aching.
     Draw the blinds.
     Get drunk at 3:00 p.m.

Slim one,
Why the slender face?
Why the small waist?
Why dresses
And bare skin?
Why devoted time
To dolling up?
All this prep & care
Is working towards something,
And what?
For nothing.
You don't get what you want, and
You don't foresee it.

Even someone so kind
With such kind words
Is full of toxins,
seeping into me.

You're so negligent
With your abuse--
You often forget,
Leaving it with me.

My trust runs deep within you,
A mass-trans bridge
For your poison
Into my sanity.

"I'm so comfortable with you."
"I haven't been this at-ease since I don't know when."
"This feels really good, right?"

Oh, how you forget,
Leaving it with me,
Toxins.

I pause long enough to remember
How we used to cook dinner together,
And I decide then that I hate everything.
There isn't any point in investment,
There's no point in normalcy
When you feel out of place like you've always been--
A strange girl with strange fancies,
Inverted and fumbling to get in line.

I thought this was our haven,
Thought this was our reprieve,
But I'm lost as I ever was.
Maybe you were just momentary relief.

"I don't see myself in this house.
I don't see myself in this."

And I am adrift, thinking of
Breakfast plates and table scapes.
It was all a dream,
But oh, to shut your eyes
For just a moment,
For only a moment,
I was calm.

"You told me you were looking at rings."
(My mind is somewhere else than yours, completely)
You have a way of making me feel ashamed for feeling too much,
But I remember us--both of us sitting
In a bathtub in Pankow, Berlin
And I laid you on the wooden floor,
And you were the vulnerable one then.
Hovering over you--and our disagreements.
I could have argued with you forever,
But you decided to leave.

I can’t sit still.
A longing for the fear
To keep moving,
Rolling down the leaf-draped hills,
Cautious and conscious
Of every bump and whisper of wind.
Golden honey rays
Peak through the canopy and envelope me,
Drenching me in a sweet bath.
Where else can I find such warmth?
I find myself ruminating over ellipses.

Your long fingers
On my face, and inside.
Our slow stares
And low sighs.
Every time we whispered
In the middle of the night,
I felt a closeness with you,
A musing energy in my life.

And I’m scared that
I’m losing this feeling,
And there’s the fear of what I know—
That I must forget it.

Instead, it is your long face
And the burn
Of your harsh glare, I feel
Your low blows, and hear
Your combative voice.
What once was growing
Stifles within me, and I am
Once again, dispirited and cold.

Her eyes--brown, contrasting, and clear... When she smiles with them. When she smiles period. Beautiful and stunning, it is wide and infectious. The sharp corners of her mouth, which she worries of the mirroring creases causing permanent wrinkles... I love these both. Cause and effect, I kiss these both.

Her wrists. Her beautiful wrists. Small and slender, the hands are nothing without them. Her hands are portals to her affection. She authors her love for me with every touch, like a pen-point. When she maps my face with her hands, all of their grace and elegance is thanks to her wrists.

I'm learning to sit with myself...
     ...a self-Shiva.

I listen to the crickets
     That sound throughout my soul.

I'm learning what I like,
     And what I don't like.

A hot cup of tea at 10:00.

Wrap me up in your slender arms,
In your silk,
Sliding,
Over my body.
You're smooth as lotion
Spreading over my skin.
I'm dry
And tender,
Sensitive
To any presence,
But your essence
Is a welcome one
Revitalizing me--
Like breathing in
Fresh
Unzipped citrus.
It pierces my nostrils, and
Gently
Shocks me alive.
The Awakening.

During that cheesy song,
Your foot touched mine
And my heart felt like a banjo,
Twanging.

I wonder if I make you sweat,
Even though you're asking me if I'm cold.

Kiss my eyelids
Every night
So that I may sleep,
And I'll promise to
Touch my lips
To all your sharp places
Of your curvature,
And hold you near,
Until we aren't thinking
Consciously anymore,
Until the morning,
Stretching & sighing.

"A sip of water to stretch the seconds,
Including these smiles & smirks
Inside all this noise, all this chatter.
Fingers tapping a beat and my hands all a-frantic
To find something sacred to share with you...
Switching back and forth,
Mending my metamorphosis,
Here you are as you always were,
By my side, with you,
All the bad thoughts have died."

Coriander, cardamom, echinacea.
Sage, basil, & dill;
Shading the kitchen counter,
Lining the window sill.
Yellow walls and checkered floors,
This is where we create art.
This is where we nourish ourselves.
This is where we
                        love.

"Stripes from the nape of your neck
To your heart fill of spectacular spices.
My eyes fall upon every movement,
Every moment you are a lovely layer of love."

My plaid love,
Lumber my heart.
Harvest for your own creation.
Perhaps a wooden chest
To fill with memories,
Or a house for us to live in.

Bring your epsom salts,
Your lavender,
Your faint smiles.
I'll surround you, envelope you,
Submerge you in warmth
With kisses.
I'll put the creases
Back in your face.
Dissolve into me,
Cleansing love.

[viridissima virga] To my lover, 2011

I think we're growing.
Yeah, I can feel us growing.
The night's slumber,
The quiet of the morning.
You're the greenest branch--
Bending, bending,
Bending...
Letters and lists,
Secret notes,
Surprises.
We begin to melt,
Mistaken for one body.
Content with life,
With kissing your eyelids,
With your beautiful wrists.
You are the greenest branch.

Finally in agreement,                    ] We've heard the usual saying,
My heart and brain                        ] But what if they are on the same page?
Say, "Yes,"                                      ] Everything about this love is right.

But my confidence                        ] Maybe if I was confident,
Says, "No chance."                        ] I could actually see this through...

Waiting

I think we're growing.
Yeah, I can feel us growing.
------------------------------------------------------
My heart is breaking,
(I like you so much)
Just to think
Of a life without you.
------------------------------------------------------
I'm afraid of being nice.
------------------------------------------------------
I'm not going to say anything,
Because I'm too afraid to know.
This ignorant bliss...
Is better
Than whatever reservations
You might have.
I don't need to know
Right now.
If I ask,
If I push,
I may just scare you away.
You may scare me away.
------------------------------------------------------
I've been so cool
And understanding,
I forgot
To think about myself.
My fear,
My past,
My heart.
I said, "Whenever you're ready,"
Though...
I'm eagerly awaiting,
Or am I just waiting?

Core

Red and ripe,
I break the skin,
Searching inside,
Kissing the flesh,
gently, softly.
Juices run,
And my lips press,
Sucking, soothing.
Oh, woman,
With color in your cheeks,
Let me peel away your ruby dress
And with my wet lips,
Caress your pale curves.
Let me brush my teeth
Along your side as you shiver
And let out a sigh.
Your taste is sweet and tart,
As is your heart.
I can love all of you.
I want all of you.
You give yourself graciously
To my hungry mouth,
Swollen and sensitive.
I must get to your core.

When I first heard you sing and play,

I knew you were special.

When we first took that walk around town,

talking about music and spirituality,

I knew I would know you forever.

When we biked that night

Into the arb and under the moon,

I knew that I would love you.

And it was apparent following,

with you visiting in my dreams,

or thinking I wanted to see you,

and there you appeared.

Dreaming

Fooled Again

New Tensions

Remember, the sensation of cold fingers & electricity...
awaken and born again with every touch.
Reaching out, as if I might die, if I can't feel your warmth.

Remember, the feeling of your profile & mass pressing against my back--
the weight & pressure which grounds me.
I feel you standing behind me, and locking into place like a key in the door.

You are behind me.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They say life is full of many loves, not just one.
And so how many times will I be born in my life?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thankful, for what I have...
So much harder to recognize
Than my sadness for what I am lacking.

Your sudden absence burns like a dozen bombs
Every memory a devastating hit.

I spend the holiday with my family in safety
While missiles are tossed back and forth.

I'm here, physically; though,
I feel more so in Gaza,
Defenseless.
Likewise, I feel our separation is
A conflict that will never be
Resolved.

Prophecy, 2012

Before I left for school, my mother told me a prophecy. She was at a holiday party and met this woman. When they were introduced, the woman took note of my mother's wedding ring. She held her hand and examined the ring. My mother made a point to tell me that this was unwarranted, that she doesn't pry into my business... but this psychic woman revealed to her a revelation.

She asked my mother if she had a daughter. Yes, two. Looking into the ring, the psychic said she saw a daughter with dark hair. This daughter had music notes surrounding her. Me, no doubt. The psychic went on to say that I was engulfed in troubles. That I was a troubled young woman. But not to worry, because by April, things will be better.

This has been haunting me whenever I think of my poor disposition. I don't want to have to wait until April for everything to be okay. It's good to be assured that things will and can be fine, but I hate feeling like I have no control over my own life.

A lot of times, I just wish I was thirty with a decent job I can stand, a place to call home, a life-long companion I luckily found by then, and children of my own. That's all I want. Hobbies are for those that have time to spare.

I can't do it.
I couldn't do it again.
I bruise easily, and
Another fall would do me in.

Damp earth, warm
Yet cool to touch the air--
And my chest feels heavy.
I feel your ghost weighing on my chest.
Little bodies squeek & sing,
And I feel like screaming.

My skin is on fire from the Spring air,
Burning with the atmosphere of rebirth
Because I feel nothing--
But dead branches & phantom limbs
Of where you once were
Attached to me.

Rumination on the past serves little purpose
When compared to feeling the experience and moving forward.
Worrying about the future prepares some,
But not enough to outweigh the anxiety that comes.

Move & remember to keep breathing.
Live & remember to keep feeling.
That way, if I  die,
I won't have seen it coming,
And time will not have been wasted.

Build a house in the present.
Remember to compost memories
So that new life may bloom.
Water the seeds & watch them grow,
Don't wait until tomorrow
To see them sprout.

With a drought and the bees suffering,
Apple crops diminished by eightfold.
Despite the shortage in Michigan,
The Buddhist temple is abundant--
Enough to have a box offering
Of honeycrisps to give away.
I, myself, take two.
Likewise, when I thought all my love had gone,
I somehow find parts of me to share
Selflessly with you.
I know the custom across the sea.
Must I offer myself to you three times
Before you accept me?

I've been living in poverty,
Starving for your words--
Though I didn't know it yet.
Your words haunt me
Before you've even left.

When we're in the same room,
Why is it that I'm asking myself,
"Are we in the same place?"

I told you last week:
"Tomorrow is not something you walk into
But a doorway you stand in.
The second each moment comes,
It is going."

So why am I not listening to myself?
The trouble is I am--
Listening too much to myself
And all sides.

I'm not in the moment when we are apart.
I'm ruminating,
Thinking & not feeling.
This is the dilemma I have when I am alone.

So it seems we should probably see more of each other.

1:25 a.m.

You don't feel it here,
You don't feel it there,
But maybe home is not a location.
Did you feel it with me?
Do you feel at home with me?

I dream of a house-
Glowing with golden light
The kitchen window sill,
Lined with spices- cardamom, thyme, dill.
Little creatures lurking and purring,
Panting and babbling,
Crawling on four limbs & teetering with two.
Music and textures, of sounds and fabrics,
Layers and textiles and instruments.
A body to sleep next to,
And cartoons to watch in the morning.
Warm baths, and surprise flowers,
Little sticky hands and undistinguishable paintings.
Birthday parties and first days of school.
Balancing budgets, grocery lists, and anniversaries.
Piano lessons and soccer practice.
Snotty noses and tomato soup.
The morning rush, exhausted dinner, quiet night.

You say you're bad,
And I forget to say something
More than just disagreeing-
Forget to say the opposite,
That you're wonderful,
That I like being near you.
You make light of your talent,
Make sarcastic remarks,
Cynical gestures, and bizarre noises.
And I see it as a dance.
Your hands gracefully move through the air
And I'm transfixed.
As if you're a snake charmer
Playing your tune.
I follow you mindlessly,
As I slither in every direction.
Who's seducing who?

My roots are raw & exposed.
I was yanked out of the ground
And set aside, forgotten to be crafted.
I knew a home once,
A lush wood with foliage
And forest sounds, dewy & humming.
I am now in solitude & drying out.
The life of my ecosystem-exiled.
What to do now,
But to find a pot of soil and call it "earth."
Find a small, modest room with generous light.
Let creatures lurk around corners
And fill the air with spices & music.
I once stood still in a forest.
Now, I stand independent
Growing & collecting light.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is--
Who to appeal to.
Things merely are, and
I merely am.
I exist and I experience.

What comes tomorrow is not born
As time is not static.
It is growing, and I watch
The cinema of life unfolding.
I am a witness to the unknown,
Meeting strangers everyday,
Constantly replaced by the next novelty.

Tomorrow is not something you walk into,
But a doorway you stand in.
The second each moment comes,
It is going.

The only thing to be doing is right now.

Want.
I want
To want.
I want to,
But I'm afraid.

July

My professor's condo overlooking the lake
Where fireworks fly above to bridge linked islands
Every 4th of July.

I bring the mail in,
Clean old teacups and study the fish.
Water the plans & play the piano.
Thumb through some CDs to borrow & listen
In my car on the way to work.
I browse his library shelf with
Books of art and gay literature.

There is a set of beautiful journals,
Appearing as if a set.
Each an installment of gifts.
One front page inscription reads as
An Easter present from a lover Joe.
"From the Easter bunny, bunny."
The first page tells of a trip abroad
And longing from being apart.

I wonder what happened to Joe.
Where is he now?
Do they still talk?
And does he know of Michael's condition?

I feel sad,
Thinking of the professor's clean, white apartment
Living alone for so long, devoted to his field & students.
He is much like his Oscar fish
Who sits alone in his massive tank.
I note the similarities.
And that's how he'd rather have it--
Not understanding why anyone would fawn over him,
Even now with his terminal illness.

And I wonder where I will be in forty years
Or when I'm dying.
Who will be by my side?
And all I want is to be as great a man as my granddad,
And find a woman as beautiful as my grandmother.
I pause, and sit,
And am lonely & defeated.

He passed away in July,
After moving home, with countless visitors
In and out.
Old colleagues calling, students travelling
From Atlanta, New York,
Driving from Iowa, Chicago.

He did not want a funeral, but music.

At his remembrance in the organ recital hall,
Songs were sung and played,
A concert of piano & cello.
People told stories of his commitment, assertiveness,
Tantrums & sass.
And I cried,
Not because he was dead,
But because I longed to make such an impact.
I gave up my fantasies of union,
Feeling the desire to take over his torch
And marry my work.

I.
Black, dirty hands
Who decided such a negative connotation?
Dirt. Dirty. Of the earth.
Back to our roots. Grounded.
At home, to stick our fists in
Wet & heated, warmer below the surface.
Full of insects and creatures,
Humming, pulsating.
And the majority water
Like a body of flesh & blood.
The Schumann resonance beats
Like a heart, burning from
The molten core of lava and what else?
Earth sings, through wispy winds,
Whispering a silent tune, or
Screeching a war cry...
Then mumbles with a tumbling stream,
Babbling over unique rockscapes--
Lay still long enough & something will find you;
Quiet long enough & the earth will talk.

II.
Seasons come & go, cycling, like we all
Fall back into old routines & habits.
We are warm, we are dying, cold, and then reborn.
Does one get anywhere spinning in circles
With the occasional tip down or up?

III.
Poor planet packed with parasites
Nothing given, only taken.
And she cannot replenish fast enough.
Temperamental frustration.
Natural disasters.
Slowly dying, like anything else.

2012 Is Stupid

Stirring--something gently shaking me awake...through the window.
A chilly breeze, fall is officially here.
The wee beastie purrs, gazing out longingly.
Finally, I escape to the shower.
The steaming rain is just too hot for my body, but just right for my back.
 I wish I could stand there all day, surrounded by warmth, as if in the womb.
Yet, it lacks the life rhythm-the heartbeat that I latched onto,
Pushed up my mother's abdomen, from scar tissue after my sister's birth.
They had to pull me away; and likewise, I drag myself out of the shower.

"I like mornings because they're secret," Ben says.

I look out onto Maple street as if surveying a ghost town.
It is eerily quiet, and everything is haunted by a light layer of dew.

Turn the key in the ignition...
It hums but no bellow.
I crank the choke as far as it will let me.
Cold engine. Lame horse.
I feel sorry for the bike,
I can relate
And I am late.

I pull the copper Schwinn out and up from the cellar,
As quickly as I can setting off down the hill.
The wind is cold, my hands stiffen, eyes watering.

"What is the point? Why is everything so difficult?"
I search for purpose.
"What is the reason behind all this shit?"
I huff as I make the slight incline to Ann Arbor.

I cannot see how I am being shaped, if not only to be apathetic or bitter.

My heart booms
Shoulders tense
Chest aches.

The only thing I can predict to happen next with my cynicism is a heart attack.

Your ghost is everywhere--
In every falling leaf
In each cup of ginger tea.
The hot baths & boiling showers.
Old National Geographics & the golden early morning light.

I always wait too long to escape up north,
Where it's cold and no one is swimming.
I hope that the sun heats the sand
To warm my feet,
Like when I crawled under the blankets
To cup your toes in my hands,
And breathe my hot, moist breath on
Your pale frozen skin,

Passing the Dixie highway, the Baptist sign reads,
"Are you on the right road?"

I can still feel your hand in mine,
Solid as stone with
A blanket of flesh
That I kiss to warm.

Like a warm, 10-gauge pump-gun,
Slamming into my shoulder with each shot--
My heart beats against my chest,
But aiming for what, I do not know.

It's drunk on caffeine,
Drunk on daydreaming,
And breathing heavily.

The cicadas' purr in Summer
Sound more sane & soothing
Than the synchronized pumping.

Abandonment & longing.
Sensuality & intrigue.
It is completely exhausting
Existing in these two separate paradigms simultaneously.

My pulse is racing,
Yet I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open.
(I feel as if I'm floating.)
[I need to leave, and yet these heavy blankets keep me anchored.]

I want a woman who will love me, really love me, all of me,
And who will kiss my rough, calloused fingers
Who will wrap about me like vines
And comb my hair with her smooth branches
Who will nest for warmth, even in Summer
Be cradled under my arm
And listen closely for the ocean in my chest--
The crash of the waves, spilling from my nostrils,
And the rise and fall of my breath.
I want a woman who will love.