sometimes you will meet certain people,
who will be able to open you up.
you will leak all over them,
and they may not be able to handle it.
do not apologise.
leak as much as you want,
but never apologise if they are
unable to swim in your sea;
in your love,
in your trust,
in your softness.
Do you know the sound of the wind through the trees in the dead of a summer night?
The soft glow of the moon, golden on every surface,
Reflected deep brown in every shadow.
The balmy smoothness of the air along your skin, full of the sweetness of wet earth, new grass, and night blooming flowers.
The ghostly white moths that flit along the ocean of grass in the fields, capping billowing green waves.
The hush and hum of a sudden rain pattering on the sundried ground, darkening the darkness and blotting the moon with grey cotton clouds that glow from within.
Darling, I miss you like that. I miss you like a summer night. I miss you with that beauty,
Natural like a heartbeat,
Subtle like a breath,
Constant like the earth.
I miss you like a summer night.
Oh this tenderness
The beauty of you amazes me
As I undress in the sun
Shining through the window
Curtains fluttering in the breeze
This Spanish villas part of me
Your eyes as slender
As an irresistible lover
Watching the silk fall from my hips
Taking me in your arms as this
Years we have waited
To meet once more
Thousands of hours
Hundreds of days
A million thoughts have kept you alive
In my head
Turning over all that was said
Tiny snippets of memory kept me in this eternity
Needing you back with me
Now the dream is reality
Undress in front of me
Lay upon my body
This warm familiarity
I have acted this out in my mind
A million times
Lightening flashes inside of me
If only I knew before
Life after death was
Tenderness flawed by the endless need
to hold on to your own sanity
I turned to look for you
But saw nothing
A desert stretched out before me
It felt as though death had
buried you before my return
Where faces loomed
No presence to fill the gloom
Tenderness within the silk of the hour
was surely mine to bestow
All around me, the sky with its deep shade of dark.
The moon with its shrunken soul.
Can I become what I want to become?
Neither wife or mother.
I am noone and nobody is my lover.
I am afraid
that when I go mad,
my father will bow his downy head
into his silver wings and weep.
My daughter, O my daughter.
Are you fucking crazy, he says
and I want to nod,
want to grin
want to peel back my lips and gnash my teeth like a wild thing,
want to jump on the table and scream.
I want to caterwaul,
want to close my eyes and keep them shut
I want to dig my nails into flesh and hear the tear.
No, my voice is quiet like a whisper,
hesitant and unsure.
I want that to be the wrong answer
but I don’t...
I want him to get angrier still
but I don’t...
I don’t want him red-eyed,
coming down upon me
but I do.
And when he grips my chin with slender fingers,
I want to sigh,
want to moan like a bitch in heat.
Like a whore on the side of the road, full with cum,
sore with lust and clit-swollen.
When his hand slaps my bare bare skin,
stinging pink brightly under the force of my degradation.
My sweet humiliation,
leaving soft thick welts on my delicate limbs,
writhing helplessly in discomfort,
tears smudging old makeup and
I am weak,
I am ugly,
I am hurting and I am wrong,
impaired and imperfect,
and perhaps I am fucking crazy.
What is that reality that appears to me in dreams,
chock-full of misgivings and doubt. I counteract my fear of life
with my fears of slumber,
dust in my eyes and stiff as lumber.
In truth - I'm not stiffened
or all of the above.
I'm not up-kept,
grizzly with ennui;
I'm dizzy, confiding my loss.
I feel the lips that kiss
but can't be drawn: from mind,
on sheets of thick
for the heart to mend.
My unsteady hand
is my fearful friend
A soft embrace
from a warm mind
and so full of Life
clung to by the scent of Death
with an eternal promise and regret
from veins of plants
or the glow of stars.
Cold, mechanical debt.
(my heart, so full of...)
(my mind, so hot with...)
(my body, trembling in...)
I am gulf-like
a stream full of trees and glass
echoing a promise of shattering wind.
Will I be published
after my death,
asleep predating, a life conceived.
Will I live to see myself alone,
and to discover
that which I'm not?
Or will I stutter
and wallow a curse,
Up towards the sky,
Until the final verse.
On a boast
or chasing the Rail,
pale as dirt, and shallow still.
Will my true love abandon, break, strain,
Burn away the wax,
or hurry to blame?
Omit my evils from the star-charts,
then just to vacate the void.
From the half-broken corridors of rocks,
Carry laughter through the night
burn the effigy bowed-down,
before dawn's courageous,
of Carlo and Marx,
plenty by noon
again by day
Endeavor to infinity, fair child.
Remold the light by Day
and remold the Day