Watching the curtains flutter was relaxing,

the window was open wide letting in a breeze,

it was evening but the air was warm,

and there was a strong smell in the air,

a summer smell,

it was one of those intense nostalgic kind of smells,

that flare up emotions with old memories,

and people in the gardens were laughing and drinking.

We were lying down on a mattress on the floor in your dad’s room,

both naked,

my pale white skin touching against your beautiful Arabic skin,

the colour of coffee.

A perfect mixture, sweet coffee and milk,

surely we were made for each other?

And you had your tiny arm wrapped around my waist,

your soft hand holding my chest,

and on my back I could feel your small breasts,

and your lips breathing hot breath down my neck

I was almost asleep.

Out of breath and sweaty
You turn as you roll off me
The barest hint of a question
Forming behind those eyes

You've been here before
A hundred moments to shrug your shoulders
As if to say
Whatever, who cares anyway?

Lips pursed just so
Whisper shocked suprise
Instead of the usual "I should go..."
Demurely ask "Can I stay?"
Suddenly start to cry

And our hearts break as I reach out to you
Cause you start to say you love me
When I interupt abrubtley
My thoughts are of someone else
But I guess you'll do

Pink lips, and the flowing of hair.
Flesh on flesh, and in the eyes: fire.
Breath pounding on the door of the tower of Pan.
Drums a kin to the heart, RACING RACING RACING.
Puzzle united.
Two into one.
An Expression.
A Climax.
And in her eyes I see G-D.

today i became aware
of the reason why
i always have
to try with much effort
not to glance his way constantly.
Oh how i love his mouth and the way it moves,
not just his lips,
but the utterly adorable way
that the corners of his mouth
slide ever so slightly upward
while he sings into my soul

-cc

do you know how many times i've had to suffer through the same tired metaphors over and over and over again.

put down your tears and your stars
and your cigarettes and your coffee
and your waves and your skies
and your hearts and your bruises
and pick up your pen and write
something worth living for god damn it.

because i haven't read a poem from the heart in years
and all your elaborate conceits and sadness and promises
and "i love you"s and lips and dreams
are getting on my fucking nerves.

rage against the stereotypes and conventions and
rage against Petrarchan and Romantic and
Post fucking Modern love.

Don't write something because you feel like it.
Write something because you would explode if you didnt

...on this Saturday afternoon there is a street fair in Greenwich,
You step off the 1 train at Christopher Street station and all along 7th Avenue,
the little sidestreets, Bowery, Commerce, give me that old Dutch sensibility
Street vendors and street people eating, laughing, trying on five dollar leather clogs
On a day that is slightly drizzling, we pause to consider the trees

In a flash I understand the world you come from when you say you normally stay on the East side of Lower Manhattan, you start counting the colors on the street and ask where all the Spanish people at?

there is this reversal, a turnaround, a recognition in me that binds me to you, when I realize you can teach me how to be young and dance with my hips, when I know that you can give me what I've craved for so long, freedom-the opportunity to face all my fears- and the chance to be a wild thing. I am nineteen, for the love of God, and I never got the chance to rage and abandon all cerebral intelligence and just live in the realm of the senses! But for now, I'll settle for to know myself better and to live without apology-but of course, there is a certain fear with taking that step and giving all of myself to you.

Yet I find myself considering it as we walked with your arm around my shoulders and my hands on an eight dollar bag of Swedish candy. I know you know the effect you have on people, other women especially, I see the way they eat you up with their eyes. But then again I'm only beginning to notice the same kind of attention from men as I walk down the street-though I owe that to you too, giving me enough confidence in my body-to sway a little bit more.

And the fact that you repeat thoughts and ideas that have been constantly looping in my own mind makes me believe we are on the same wavelength. Like when the lights suddenly flickered off on the train and you glanced up at me and said how much you love it when that happens? Goddamn, it sent my head spinning.

And now we are together, supposedly. But of course I always keep in the back of my mind the possibility that everything you are is a lie and you could wake up one day and say I don't want you anymore and just walk out my life with both hands in your pockets.

If that happened now, I could say fuck you and move on.

But if I love you the way I want to love you and the way I long to be loved, all of that mind body spirit crap, a piece of me would just break and float away forever.

I guess that's a risk I might have to take one day, and I find myself considering it as we race each other to get burritos and later on I flick some water in your face and you just stare at me with a faint smile on your lips. So, at this moment, I am too much with you. It scares me when I think of what I might feel for you, and so I am on the edge of a precipice here-wondering whether or not to run with you.