Baby, it's that crazy feeling
Next to you, my heart's pounding
Hard enough to keep me from slipping
Out of my trance

Baby, your warmth is all I need
Don't hold it, set it free
I'll willingly catch it--
My body's chant

I'll borrow his love for a little while, so I can feel what you've been feeling all this time

"I love you"
" A constant commitment 
                   or 
       an instant obligation?"

i slip into
the embrace
of the sea,
this morning
and it,
welcomes me.

the salt,
carresses my skin
and the cool water,
captures my mind

i swim out,
past the breakline
and into the green

who knows,
what swims beneath....
when i dive
i see nothing,
but seaweed
yet there is,
a whole world
down there...
watching,

as i stroke,
my way back and forth across the cove...

the worries of the landlocked cease,
and i am...
at one...
with the rythm...
of my body,
as the water,
slides,
past each and every,
skincell,

it is like...
weaving liquid silk,
into the weft,
of my tattered soul ...
and in doing so,
renewing vigour
and purpose.

the sun rises,
and the surfers come...
at last i am done....
and leave the water,
slipping quietly
back on to the sand...

and back into the less fluid
being of me....
patched....and embroidered
ready .....for another day

the love and romance.
the years lit by artillery.
the wars.

the men did these wild things. these great grand expressions of love and survival.
they’d damage themselves, bleed while moving furniture.
wood splinters better painted red wet warmth.
they’d notch together plum-cut bricks into
crenulations or walls or cathedrals.
home built.

the women: of an ancient woven fiber
and/or old energy, they’d battle serpents into dark and drunk loneliness.
she conspired for a happy life.

death by the meadow.
old woman remembering young woman and
young man,
now old man approaching.
the world forgets, but we will always have eachother.

remember us youths in proto-revolution.
we didn’t believe in what we did.
we lived a lie.
all america.
dreaming and soap opera.
daytime television blastulas.

the wars are fought early, and fierce.
the wars are won and lost on highschool dancefloors.
highschool blacktops. blackboards. breathy
kissing.
spectral codes of light.

and we bloom outward into livelihoods and
incomes.
timelines.
trenches to crawl from shell-shocked and screaming ****** ******.
or not.
but yes -

the world is built on blisters and scar tissue.
nothing is untouched.
nothing is unwounded.

If poems were ***
then,I wouldn't be a ******
i would caress the letters
fix a foreplay with title
i would literally **** the words
to give birth to soulful sentences
if poems were ***
I wouldn't be ******,still.

i love/    the water.
gonna set my sights
on a sunny californian day.

thought of you,
oxytocin coursing the grooves of my brain.
and you/      in rising colors.

i love/     that.
that polyeurithmic song of again and again
our bodies.

dark parked cars.
neighborhood bedroom lights, on then off.
we continue/      in tongues.

i love/    the sand and scent
of life. of finding ourselves,
in ourselves.