Spark up my cancer stick
as the mist rolls in.
Enchanted, I sit on these steps
and catch water rivulets
while holding my breath,
the smoke entwining
with secrets I've shed,
all the while cherishing
the thought of shared bed.
My wicked streak
no longer welcome here
there's no room
in our nest
for this shame
in my chest
I find myself nourishing
what hasn't happened yet,
flourishing
the tender side of my soul
in the dead of night
I sit here alone not cold,
for beknownst to me,
my inner vision in sight,
orange cones
surround the scene,
that cannot obscure
moonlight,
oxygen growing in trees
and all the famed whispers
cavorting with me.
All congenial
with our convictions,
this depiction
of snow Winter sent
has me lifted.
Every fence i lean over
has only meant that
I see you.
Spring sprouts as a human,
your hope makes me feel new.
I've hit the ground running
to pick up your pace,
but not for a second
do I feel in a race.
We have hit
a harmonious stride,
and Dear, I do find
that your words
are the grace
in this ephemeral place.
I'm right beside you smiling
because home is your face.

I was just having a couple glasses of pinot with my coworker in a bar right by my hostel, a bar with a giant mosaic owl on the wall outside, with his watchful eyes fixed on downtown San Francisco,
when a man bought the whole bar a round, something said friend identified as
a mind eraser.
"The kalua in the bottom pleasantly coats your throat, its that they're delicious that's makes them dangerous." A lovely little factoid from my favorite painter/server/bartender.

The night to follow ironically, was a deep soul connection I won't soon forget, or probably ever.
The drunken buyer stumbles over using my shoulder as an arm rest and says,
"focus on the new,
I always say."
Thats just what I needed to hear I tell him, thanks. We leave the bar, she gets in her uber, its back to the road, I'll mosey on my own,
all alone.

I mosey over and up the alley and ask
the man smoking,
do you know where the hostel is? Right there he says, pointing behind me.
I plop down beside him on the curb and get my pipe out, "oh no, not here, they'll kick you out."
"I paid them fifty dollars already, they're not kicking me no where," I say matter of factly.

The conversation twists and turns to different continents and then returns to the alley, to right where we're sitting.
"Im worried about you"
he divulges. And why is that? Because you're already drunk, why should you need to get high too?
Bc Im on the run, from me you see, I just like my crossfaded path. But if you really must know, this is not my MO.

Im probably just trying to distract him with his own good looks, "why are you so handsome?"
He really is. "I dont know, my parents just made me and here I am."
There you are, I say. He looks at me deeply and I do the same. I cant quite help myself, Im being drawn in.

I know he wants to kiss me but as much as I can grasp that primal energy and tie a string onto it like a baloon, something is stopping me, and that is
reality,
that he cannot fill the
you
shaped hole in my heart. So I sit up straight and just smile, so he smiles too.

I dont want to like you, but I do. And why dont you want to like me?
"Because you," he sighs, "are a roller coaster."
Thank you! I say emphatically, I love them SO much!
Lets smoke on the street, your being loud, they'll come kick us out.

When we sit on the sidewalk against the building I put his arm around me, cuz Im lonely and I know he'll let me. A *** walks by and says, thats a beautiful woman you have, he smiles contentedly and replies isnt she? My eyes are watering and I don't know why they're not stopping.

I think of telling him I'm still in love with you, but that's not really true. Cuz I'm in love with your soul, and he's not always you. I cant explain it away I say I can't shake someone and I feel stuck in gray area. Thats all the info he needs to go off on a tangent  he says love is black and white, and theres no excuses. Love is just love and it has to be enough. You have to let it go, I  look up and tell him I knows he's right and that I'm just drunk.

Its not til I pass out on him that I realize something is wrong with me, that I prefer to cling to company in the street, to his protective energy, rather than pursue his friendship in daylight. Where are my boundaries or my demure subtlety?

He says he's a "long termer" and so check outs not at ten for him, like it is for me, cuz it's five AM now you see,
"why don't we meet at breakfast, and you can sleep in, I'll be running errands, you can have my whole bed to yourself." That's sweet of him but it's a slippery *****. "Thanks" I smile and I'm off to my own bed.

I overslept and never saw him again. I thought of exchanging numbers but deep in my head, I knew I can't slip into another abyss, instead I set sail off to my future, I could have lingered to find that Earthy long termer, afterall I felt so safe with him, part of me relented to picturing us past that night, and the other part knew it's not smart to light a fire with no container, I let things burn too bright just to outshine the former. Well, anyway, that's not me anymore.

I'm a thinker now, and I think as long as I still love you, I'd ruin that poor fool.
No amount of handsome, or rich, or clever or nurturing could replace you.
That is why I'll wait, until however long it may take, to move on until it's not moving on, but moving forward to the light. Til there's no more drunken nights of wondering if you're still in limbo, if you're ever coming home into yourself. I want to be so far past wonder or caring that I'm sure, very sure about the next man I pounce upon. I dont care most the time as it is, its the remainder that kills me. No man deserves to be second best, runners up that I entertain just cuz they're nice to look at, and because of their familiar touch my soul already knows too well to refuse.

No, I'm quite done running. I'm hitting my stride of alone time, and one day my swag will carry me into a future lifetime of not acting on impulse, but immeasurable knowing, that I'm not just reinstating, or replacing, not distracting, but doubling down and betting that we aren't running from any ghosts, only running into eachothers arms, cuz we can't stand to be apart. That's what I want to know. That sort of love. That doesn't just write me poetry after I'm gone, but seizes every moment. I dont have time for anything less. Until I'm ready I'll keep letting go and  relenting to your memory that keeps me from moving on. Only I dont want to want you or any man.

I've ducked many men that find me in obscure measures, as if fate keeps pushing us back together, when I wish at times to be through with your whole species forever.

I'm not ready I said,
to that kindred soul with his shining chivalry, his French accent, and even more French name that I cant remember, Its written somewhere on a scratch piece of paper. His gaze was so ****, especially cuz it was genuine, I'd ruin him.
He insisted he give me all his ****, and his number I never texted.

I'm not ready I said in my head, to the one I never contacted, that left a note on my car making a fuss about my eyes just cuz I smiled at him. He was **** too, and from Santa Cruz, the note said, but he did kinda look like a convict. In anycase, I'm not ready.

They like to smile and stare and I smile back, half the kitchen calls me mama in their accents, Latin men are mamas boys and I love it, their fire and water is my sonnet. I wield my words when I sing, my favorite most handsome cook likes to say Oh My God in an awe filled sort of way just cuz my hair falls down or the rare sight of my hips shaking to the music when I wait for the plates Im taking and I just can't contain it. I laugh because bewitching is my favorite hobby. Solamente aveces.. I wonder .. if he has a novia, pero no estoy listo..

I wonder if the young business man, hungry for my eye contact, whose gaze is not non chalant, following me like a watchful dog, is too GQ and tall and handsome to be marriage material, by which I mean faithful.. I smirk with uncharacteristic confidence, but then there's a blonde showing up for him. Whatever, I wasnt ready anyway.

The list goes on and on, but I do not yet..

I'm not ready.

But
when I am,
I'll know .

Thank you for being for me, who I would be for you, if you were the woman, and I the man. True, it didn't last. But I'm just glad I have those untainted snippets of what love is, what love should be. I need that collateral for comparison. Maybe before we met it wouldn't have phased me..but when my super soulmate I leaned on in the alley way looked down unzipping and said, I was gonna offer you my sweater, but I forgot I'm not wearing a shirt, I smiled sweetly, as I wrote him off, thinking you would not hesitate to freeze off your *** for me. I'd protest, you'd insist.. I think you might even relish this as you beam with adoration. That's what kind of man I'd be. That's what kind of man I'd teach my son's to be. Sure, we'll be a martyrous bunch, but I'm not in life to be mild in love. If freezing in the cold is needed to keep passion burning hot, thats just what it is.

The truth is that I am the flowing of life dredged down by the weight of illusion, bouncing off the mirrors called other people. Imagine a world where you are your ideal self, and so, see the best selves of others. Perhaps the thought of both is enough to keep us afloat as we sway on our backs eyes to the sky when we're tired of treading.