babble on

pride preened the periwinkle bride.
roses blanket the cobblestone walk, the transformation begins.
the wound trembles below the flowing linen.
tulips rise to greet the sun.

silky dawn kisses the meadow,
rains of virgin spring copulate with earth and seed.
under the willow the ageing Yaga dances alone
while children titter beyond her gates,

a serpent basks among heavenly golden showers;
the wisdom of seasons an alibi to the crime.
swans tease the reeds with mating calls
as nymphs frolic in the shadows.
the sullen siren song of summer,
even closer
or further away

then remembering the frost the night before
as ocean mists creep in through the window fan
the sleep wakes well past noon.

Indecent

*disclaimer, this was written many, many years ago*


i felt it.
the tickling twinge, perhaps it was the cool breeze chilling the lifeless pins holding my dress together as they brush against my stomach,

i wish we were alone.

walking i can smell the fresh scent your soap leaves behind. prior to lighting this cigarette the living room carried the same pungency. i like it, this feeling of tension your presence ushers. do you feel it too? you must.

i saw your eyes, thought you could read my thoughts through the singing, and the music-my mind, frantic, forcing the body to flee, and yet, i returned. that is when i saw your eyes. the subtle smile that acknowledges _______. i may have had on the coy face, and unconscious reaction-immediate and making the moment even more surreal.

i fled in search of a bottle-hoping you'd follow-and stay put. like a shadow i descended trying to disappear so that no attention was required from either party. in the kitchen i wondered what your lips were like and grabbed the ice afraid to turn around.

its not the first time i wondered...
on the beach i noticed a few neglected spots around your mouth, the morning shave with tired eyes, unfinished. they look softandinviting, fullofwonder, fruityanddelicious, far too tempting. we are not alone, and i have no shoes on.

i fled to the turgid sea.
just to my ankles.

the cool water will wash it all away. then came the wave.
with the bottom of my dress drenched i gathered the skirt in hand. i am free terrain for the waters pleasure as my eyes search the near and far along the horizon. they move past the fishermen, pausing for a moment to contemplate the man with one leg or two.  they move on, feet anchored in the sand suddenly aware of the power i hold in this enticing yet strong stance. i rest my straining peepers far in the distance. a fishing boat rising and setting. the water, a smooth ripple reflecting the sun, much calmer than my racing.

anything but you.

i know you are watching me. there is heat on the back of my neck. i was always so aware of what was going on behind me that often i am struck blind when things are so close. this is probably why i gaze so often off into the distance- either to foresee or look completely past what has arrived. -yet as an expert concerning what lies behind- i know the look, and now the heat causes all the cells in my being to stand at attention.

is it obvious i know you are looking?

are you trying to be discreet with your glances? there is a chance your companion will notice.

i think for a moment i can read your mind. if we were alone you would free your feet and join me at the precipice of land and sea while trying to maintain personal space. we'd stand in silence sinking in the sand. an attempted step towards freedom from our sand trap would be the catalyst. an accidental touch tense flesh without words. arms on hips. warm breath on necks. rapid heartbeats massaging and drawinguscloser. attempting to decipher a language with a mute translator. i am not opposed to this.

i could just be projecting my desire and justifying it by thinking i can read your mind.

we are not alone.
i must get away from the water.
do not look, not even during idle chatter.
focus on the pier.
anything.
where are my shoes?
five feet to the right.

my toes dance nervously in the sand, again i think you are looking at me and ten looking down. i wonder if you are aroused and making sure it does not show. i want to tell you its the wind but say nothing. the damp skirt of my dress flutters around my legs demanding movement. the grains of sand embedded in the fabric sting with each gust and i am penitent once again. i walk away as if to be searching for something, still forsaking the shoes and settling instead on two incomplete sand dollars.

you are walking ahead now,
i must get my shoes.

i could almost feel it passing, my desire for you, as i sat on the boards. and then as you cleaned my feet it snapped back with such force. i feared i jumped as you looked up and said you would write to and for me. i could not respond, knowing that if it were only once i would scour it for nuances. i would keep it secret, would you? chances are nothing will come of it.

we are not alone.

i wonder what your arms feel like, your fingers move effortlessly from fret to fret, elbows relaxed. i wonder if you could hold me the same way. i wrote you a haiku and my address on the back of a sand dollar. to get from me to you must be unseen or amusing so as to not draw attention. perhaps a flip into your case like a tip for your serenade like loose change. i jingle it in my fingers. i think you see it and know that i am uncomfortable (what you don't know is that i enjoy it) then there was the look and the afore mentioned retreat.

we were alone for a moment.
i fumbled while maintaining eye contact and handed you the sand dollar trying not to make contact with any part of you (i really wanted to hold your hand). you look happy as you gently place it in your pocket, as if to keep it secret to keep me safe. i want to touch your face and learn the contours of your face in darkness. safe.

you won't return for a while. we all line up for a farewell embrace and wishes for safe travels and see you soons. its your turn now. i know as you step forward you will kiss my cheek. there is no fear in your advance.
the embrace
and cheek meets lips
then squeeze.
my lower lip grazes your earlobe, soft and warm.
so innocent and uninterrupted by the brief sigh that exposes your sensitivity to touch even in the thickness of tension. "intimacy does not depend on physical contact" was your reply as you held on for just a bit longer.

i knew there was more you wanted to say before they came for you.
i also know what you say is true.
i wish we had been alone.

the calling card

id like to tell you
how much i love
to hate
this.
to
know this feeling
floating in the bubble of memory-
but falling
is
like
this.

A memory of these shy hips.

Who are you
sitting there atop a suitcase dressed in a vest that just fits,
and shoes that show your wares more than your eyes
as you squint in the light rocking with each chord?

I am invisible
With chin in hand.

(This may be the first time I’ve felt the courage of youth
and the shyness of awe.)

Despite this, you are accessible from across the room
with a plastic cup and observant eye close to the nearest exit.
I dance freely;
alone in the cliché of a crowded room.
there.
You.
close.
Watching us girls turn dervish
amidst the acoustic arpeggio.

Hand extended.
I ask you to dance within a turn, slowly.
the feeling of calloused fingers grazing above my wrist nods a simple yes
and a warmth placed firmly
upon these shy hips.

I’ve no inclination to follow a lead
we shadow steps like a melody sung in the round until-

the first spin-with eyes locked.
I am beautiful and invisible with a memory of my chin in hand.
Hand in hand and hands dry-

second spin
I am eighteen and watching the rail
waiting for the moment to leap.
I land here
comfortable
in a strangers warmth
placed upon these shy hips.

Third spin.
I know only ballet and how to lindy-
and this matching step,
my fingers resting on the buckle of your vest
aware (I want to drop to my knees and pray)
you pull me closer
Its all in the hips.

I teach you.

fourth spin
I land in the crook of your arm and take a breath of life.
release
and back to the scent of home.
smile.
coy.
hold.
repeat.

Landing in
an embrace of silence.
The scent of damp earth-
the warmth upon these shy hips.

halcyon days

perfection nullified lacks order,
and the heat of the sun rests entombed.
reign on chos of night-
mother
fucking the unrelenting dawn
for a balance that torments and taunts.
dancing around doubt caressing a rounded belly-
a crown enviable of all royalty.
and yet,
destined for colonialization
and moments of revolution.

lost translations of the fog speaking into the wind

όταν τα αστέρια πέφτουν από τα μάτια μου,
κρατήστε γρήγορα ...
Δεν κάνουν μια ευχή.
γιατί είναι ένα φεγγάρι πλήρες, χωρίς υπόσχεση.
ένα όνειρο από το αλμυρό της θάλασσας
εισέρχεται εύφορη γη σας ζεμάτισμα τους σπόρους
 του μεταμοσχευμένου ελπίδας
 σε ένα δάκρυ
 της μνήμης και της ελευθερίας.



when the stars fall from my eyes,
hold fast ... do not make a wish.
a full moon without promise.
a dream from the salty sea
entering your fertile land
scalding seed
transplanting hope
a tear of
memory and freedom.

fuck the weird and give us a kiss.

sometimes stardust needs to be scattered.

don't fret,
you'll(only) miss my city saunter.
lawd knows how you love the sway
and the pollution and
the sweet sweat
dancing
amongst
my
hips.

i got out specially.
‘tits been so long-
so long darlin', that i had to cut my hair.

waiting,
waiting

always waiting.
up.

down.

or around the way.
wait on waiting.
meditate on motion.
no number.
no next on line.
wait-

useless and useful are nothing more than a game of letters

a correspondence consisting
of nothing
wondering and wandering?
this past fossil of us
frozen in fuscia ink

As distant as a faded Polaroid.

If you'd ever
find the time to prowl around
i've got things to show an eager mind
wrapped in the civil intercourse of discourse
without discord.
turn left,
then right,
and left again,
until the garden beckons and the words come to life
and fall upon you like a brick,
and curves in the road at a right angle are still magical.

the despised coaster is rattling on its tracks;
I've been given fair notice by the ticket taker.
soon the "all aboard " announcement will sound.
my sense and stability have been packed in a carpet bag and preemptively stored.
i've no other option than to climb aboard;

whistling
love, to you.
now heard unspoken
like a groove without a needle
skipping the time in-between

a sunrise
is not the only thing that relies on vermillion armor;
our overture, a gang of sustained anxious strings
frayed, without breaking.

The sister of Time,
(I have been)
the glue that binds
fractured,
(a destiny unfulfilled in a melody)
fractions upon fractions,

I am bound.