Burn BabyThis is a country whereBurn Baby9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can't watch spiders weave their webs between
I powdered my face with alkaline dust
And went out to fall in love with
Wind storms and end-of-summer sunlight
He found me, in boots with too many buckles
Drunk on the playa, singing
Row Row Row Your Boat
To a lake with no water
I could hear my skin crackle as I lifted my arms,
Laced my fingers around his neck and
Pressed my forehead to his cheek -
It was rugged, the way his shadowed face
Stung against my sunburn
At night the lights gave way to alcohol, my world
Swayed as I did on his shoulders
We watched as men danced with tesla coils, and
Made love to lightning
There were serpents breathing fire, but I couldn't care -
I was breathing dust, the dehydration was
Summer trailed, like
The tail of a heavy lizard, like
Infatuations that grow heavy with
You as the foundation
But I was a desert child, my hair
White from the dust devils that
Threw me to you, and the new kind of love
That lasts until you
Sex IsI never knew feeling like a puzzle pieceSex Is9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Was so good, on some Manhattan morning
It's still dark
And some mighty hand poured a pitcher of cream
Into the mold of a woman
The same curves, envy of sports cars and
The occasional expensive statuette
On the bed before me,
Naked and everything I
Want and want to be
My knees are a precise
Foot and four inches apart and still digging into
Flower-printed flannel bedsheets
My face would be in the pillow if
Your hands hadn't found my hair first
This is crudity, this is the essence of the word
Fucking, you're an obscene cowgirl and I'm
The Madonna of sweat and how it makes everything
So much hotter
We're a cinematic dogma, you'll
Draw a cry from me that can't be uttered
In corner coffee shops
[particularily ones with live jazz musicians in
ten dollar suits with million-dollar taste]
What do you hear
When our chest are pressed together
The same gasping for air, the same
Plea for life, life, living that
Four SeasonsWhen I first met you, you were like the relief one gets from a fresh splash of the April rain.Four Seasons11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Effervescent in your attitude, anomalous in everything else….
You were different, you were new, and you made me feel…absolutely rejuvenated and…..absolutely beautiful.
When I realized that I was in love with you, you were like the July sun.
Bright and looming, the first thing my eyes went to in the sky.
Overwhelming, you were once in a while, consuming my time and whatever limited free space resided in my mind.
Sometimes I felt you slowed me down, tired me with your tenacious complexity …but I knew, without you, I wouldn't be able to survive.
And then, there were those summer rains….those monsoons of magnificence…those hazy pink-grey skies, those shows of layers, of diaphanous folds and glorious textures in your personality.
When our love was set and rolling, you were like the falling leaves of autumn: colorful, varied, and utterly spellbinding.
I could roam through your huge expa
peppermintAnd I'll justpeppermint13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Trace your bright scars with my tongue
And with my teeth spell out
On your collarbone where it's almost unseen
At the smooth joining of muscle,
That I love you
In spite of/Because of the fact that you're the
Antithesis of innocent and
Legally dead in someone's mind.
And those fingers that braid me bits of string
Are also used to
Spin about me words that end up
Stretching everything to the point that I'm a
Piano tuned too tight
Ready to fly completely apart if
The wrong finger
(That being anybody else's)
Hits the wrong note
(That being anything less than your lips)
At the wrong time.
And when I can erase a state line or two on some map
I'll tell you everything, all of this,
In the language of my hands.
Uniforming.Hope is in the guest bedroom unpacking. It takes years to unpack in the guest bedroom. Actually, it just never ends. The mismatched pairs of socks keep multiplying, and the bed never molds to your shape. It is a slab of ambiguity that ensures that no guest ever feels at home. There's a pink cardboard Kleenex box on the nightstand and ruffles around the bed frame. It looks like a carbon copy of a Pottery Barn sample guest room. Those are dying rooms, not living rooms.Uniforming.9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Hope's brother died in the war, and they sent his armpits and toenails and nostrils back to the country in a box with a flag draped over it. He was just bits and pieces; he didn't have the glory of decomposing like my grandparents. He got blown up for no good reason; the war never even ended. It was postponed, like a soccer game on account of rain. The idea's still there, but no one can fight anymore. We just wait.
Jeremy came back from the war, but he was no better off because of it. His armpits were still in the right pl