HazeI spend my days in a haze
of nicotine, caffeine and codeine
so I can function; there's no option
with a kid who needs me upright
compos mentis, sweetness and light.
It keeps away the headaches
burning skin and aches and pains
so he can hug me and I'll feel him
without wincing and pushing him
away because my skin is burning.
And I've been tossing and turning
all night, aware that my plight
is that of hundreds, even thousands;
it helps to know I'm not alone
that others' skin, muscle and bone
betrays them, they're also in a haze
that keeps us sane, contains
the bane of our existences
sustains us, maintains
our ability to function for our loved ones
hoping we can outrun our bodies
and fretful minds, the lines
get blurred sometimes
and that haze keeps our gaze
from glazing over when we're loving
from a chair or bed that's crushing
our self-worth, confidence in our
ability to truly see the world
through our children's eyes
and we're surprised when those kids
accept us like it's normal
1.37amI wrap myself around you
hand resting on the sweet curve of your belly
absent-mindedly stroking soft hairs
as you breathe the heavy breath of sleep.
This is our time,
though you don't know it
time when I breathe in the back of your neck
all sweat and fabric softener and soap.
This is when I protect you.
When you murmur fear I comfort you
When you shift I accommodate.
The rhythm of your breathing comforts me
so I deliberate, breathing in time with you
my chest rising and falling against your back.
My knees fit perfectly into the smalls of yours
to say we are a two-piece puzzle would be a cliché
but a true one.
SongI sing his name softly as I sleep,
hearing echoes of him while I dream,
my thoughts in slumber like a tumbling stream,
his syllables bring calmness to the deep.
I sing his name quietly in my days,
a constant sountrack to my own existence;
knowing however far or near the distance
he's lighting my life with the brightest rays.
I sing him, dreaming, waking, in-between.
I sing him while I daydream, my sweet dove
who fills my life so fully with his love
that keeps my heart alive, and pure, and clean.
If life's a journey through the mists of time,
may his ever fall step-by-step with mine.
abysssalt-mouthed, eyes pouring
but he's sure he's not crying
he's sure there was nothing
but the sound of his singing.
he makes his heart sing
he brings things to fruition
in his soul-deep cavernous
the closeness is hazardous
to the health of their minds
but they persist, coexist
with each other, they've kissed
a hundred thousand times
and it's never enough for him,
or for him. he writes poems
like hymns for him. his back teeth
ache from need, from the greed
he feels when he sees his skin.
his fingertips shout obscene
sweet nothings to his ready cheek.
he falls further into an abyss
filled with kisses and bliss.
Billy BluebottleBilly Bluebottle was my friend. I didn't even know what a bluebottle was but it was Billy Bluebottle's name and only his name conjured up from some recess in my mind. He was never just Billy, always Billy Bluebottle, exclaimed in one breath to parents who worried.
Billy Bluebottle was a grown-up who played with me ceaselessly, always had time for me, never went away to sea or had to rush to make the tea. Billy Bluebottle talked to me. Billy Bluebottle comforted me and accompanied me.
Since, I have been asked if he told me frightening things. Billy Bluebottle was not frightening; he told me things, though. He told me now would be a good time to wash the felt-tipped pen from my fingers, or that maybe I ought to read for my homework.
I never saw Billy Bluebottle, not really, I was aware that he was there, that he cared. He was there for me when my mind wouldn't stop rushing, he would reach into my brain and s-l-o-w it all down to muted noise that was easier to bear.
Billy Bluebottle made
when you touch methere -
there, where you placed your hand
on my hip, crossed with silvering lines
bone jutting from soft padding
there, I feel your touch when I sleep
when I wake, and think of your breath
on my shoulder, I feel you there.
here, where you place your fingers
on my mouth, part-open, dried and cracked
tongue moistening at your scent
here, I taste your fingertips
knowing they have touched me here, and here
and here - knowing they will again.
where you touch me tingles and burns
like you are made of power, made of fire
like you fill me with boundless energy
where you touch me will always blaze
where you go I will always follow.
where you are, I will always be.