We sit together,
On old chairs with cracked legs
And upholstery of a dated pattern.

My hands:
blackened at the fingertips
nails in ruins
calloused.
it appears that my guitar is the victor of this battle.

The dining room is a mess-
textbooks strewn about, proclaiming that
a change in buyer preferences will
cause a shift in demand
and that
the Amarna Period reflected
a number of stylistic changes
and the clock on the oven says it's nearly midnight.

Retire with me to the front porch.
Sit down in a white rocking chair
with green-and-brown striped cushions
And feel the cool, clean mist on your cheeks
As the rain comes pouring forth
From the opened mouth of Tlaloc,

And we will sing, and laugh, and cry
Until it is quite late indeed
And we become
dizzy,
giddy,
wobbly-minded
And fall gratefully into bed.

I am here for one reason only:
the enjoyment of the male gaze, in two ways:

So the eyes of men may be delighted
By the contours of my form,
My graceful assumption of the traditional female role,
The fire in my eyes,
The eloquent curls sliding down the arch of my back
Like a cascade in a river cool and clean,

and so that I may enjoy the male gaze myself:
From his approval of me comes my own;
From his acknowledgement of my beauty comes my reassurance,
my security.

He will look down on me
As a member of the weaker ***,
and I will look down on him as self-glorifying,
empty-headed.

We spend it close in spirit,
but our bodies never touch.

I know little of your Inner Thoughts,
but your Eyes are like those of Horus,
gazing over me always,
your Heart nurturing like Hathor's
caring for me eternally,
but at a safe distance, from above.

You showed me my Identity;
You chastise me for my wrongdoings.
Like Osiris making my last judgement,
you sit, enthroned, with your tall white hat, flanked by vultures,
and deliver your verdict:

Love.
Love despite my failings, despite my faults,
for which you give me disappointed
looks that smash my heart to pieces,
like Seth did to your own body, you god of the Dead.

And now she, my Isis, gathers them for me.
But she forgets one vital part:

My ability to distinguish good from evil,
and now my heart is not light like the vulture's feather.

It is heavy as a river-stone and will be eaten by jackal-headed beasts.

But still, my time with you is a time of love:
enigmatic, painful love.

The chest proclaims:
Twilight Collective
The red fabric faded
and
worn thin and soft over years
Of status as
that revered object:
The favorite t-shirt,
worn first from the wash.

How it flattered your form!
Now it is draped limply from mine,
Its hem nearly at my knees,
The sleeves, short on you,
Hang past my elbows,
Giving me the appearance of a child in her father's clothes,
or of a scarecrow, faded in the sun.

Your smell remains in the fabric,
And it wraps me, safely,
As you do in your arms.

Lovingly I imbibe the sweet fragrance
As a traveler does water,
found in an oasis

And I drift to sleep in this endless desert
That is separation from you,
your voice,
your touch.

When I awake,
The rain has stopped- mostly.

I turn over to take in the glory of your resting form.
Your breath:
slow
deep
rhythmic
Makes me think of the days we spent by the sea,
taking refuge from the burning sun under striped umbrellas
that never stood quite right,
Drinking diet cola from cans that the sand always stuck to.

Your countenance, though now serene,
Is the same one that glared at me, exasperated,
as I drove us home only hours ago,
with the windows down and the rain
pelting our faces,  
soaking our T-Shirts and stinging my hand,
which I had ****** outside.

I chuckle at the memory:
the way the humidity curled my hair
and created the oppressive sensation of being in a sauna,
making respiration difficult.

Seeing the clock,
I curl back up to your warm body under our worn-out cotton sheets,
close my eyes,
and return to sleep's abundant shores.

My Soul was shut tight;
No light could ever enter such a place.

and here You are,
gingerly coaxing open the doors,
slowly pulling up the shades,
gently brushing the dust from the worn glass panes.

There are dishes stacked in the kitchen sink.
There is a skeleton in the closet.
The air is still musty and stagnant.

But:
The light is streaming in,
the sun's rays warming every surface, brightening the corners.

Progress.

And:
soon, this place will be clean,
bright,
new,
beautiful,
Yours.

Don't You know that I'm all full of love for *You?

You,
who give to me love Unconditional
Unquestioning
Endless, Eternal

True.

You who gave substance to me from YOUR body
You who were willing to sacrifice your very life for my own,

Beautiful.
Mysterious.
Enduring.

You who suffered so that I may Thrive,
and would do It Again,

You who are so like our Saviour,
You have put my joy before your own,

only to find the Joy was yours equally,

You are truly blessed.

You stand there, on the other side of the room
your shadowy soul taking refuge in
your perfectly Sculpted body

Surely Angels sang
uttering music as sweet
as the simple syrup in my Lime Rickey
while they formed your body's Symmetry
from moist, dense mass of Clay

And your steel-gray Eyes!
how they Penetrate my soul to its very Core!

as you approach me I notice the grace in your gait,
the nonchalant placing of one worn Boot before another.
It gives me endless pleasure to be the fortunate witness of such Beauty of form, and I whisper a Prayer of thanks

when you Stop directly to my right
extend your Hand,
with its beautiful palm
of worn Leather like that you wear on your feet
and in it i place mine:
small
white
trembling

You guide me to the dance floor;
i am blushing, unsure of what is to follow.

We dance close
you lean in Closer
and
here you are with your sweet Lips on mine,
your delicious tongue meets my nervous one
and I can feel the rhythm of your Heart in your chest,
beating Morse code
singing joyfully to its Creator

My thoughts: surely this is the body Michaelangelo sought for his David,
undeniably this is the very essence of masculinity
here in the body of my mysterious, shadowy companion
i find nothing but Bliss.

Here i Lie:
Disconsolate
Discouraged

Worn down to nothing like the teeth of the Pharaohs-
the  resilient, tiny grains of sand contaminating their food, interminable grinding of bone

like  defeat, rejection, failure endlessly chipping away at and disintegrating the substance of my soul.

Is there hope?
There always is,
but its once-bright warm caress of light
has faded to almost nothing,
the last minuscule bit of candle wick

now fizzles out, its dying breath a trail of swirling black smoke,
oily,
fragrant,


Gone.

the Glances you give him
so Enticing

the Quiet utterances of your full red lips
inspire adoration in his Heart

your smile:
raspberry-****
honey-Sweet
makes his Soul do somersaults, releasing Doves from his exhilarated mind

now you Sleep
silent, still, sublime

the contours of your form composed in such glorious harmony
singing una canción dulce to the Creator, the lover of the loveless,
the author of Compassion

with each light sigh,
your soul is cleansed, rejuvenated as you rest

when morning Light through the drapes does filter
we will rise again,
nourish our bodies with:
pancakes of a luscious purple hue, their pigment from new small berries that stain our Hands
orange juice -
pulpy
acidic

and New Life will be ours.

I was silently within myself, when
bzz bzz bzz

You rang.
Exuberant, I answered.

First it was small talk,
insignificant,
fit for the simpleminded in my Art History class.

Metamorphosis occured,
unexpectedly.

And

Here we were.
You, crying,
and I, deeply sighing,
Passed an hour in that glorious manner
Until you knew the tides had turned
and the spark had gone.

Our bond, though,
Will never weaken, never falter

we are forever united,
Held together with the most permanent ties short of True Love:
those of True Friendship,
that most lovely creation.

Christlike in our treatment of each other,
we share:
consolation
empathy
affection
tenderness
joy

And, occasionally,

Small Talk.

thinking about the night we spent in the patchy grass
with the dry soil rubbing from the earth
onto our clothes
leaving its mark on us
as we left our mark on each other
i begin to feel unwelcome in my own body
and long for an escape
a chance to become someone else
like the long-legged femme with her mouth open
sending out
blue smoke rising in plumes
rising to heaven like a prayer from the mouth of a ******
with Wilde tattooed on her wrist and his rough pink hand on her shoulder
and her shoes: muddy slip-ons with holes worn through
and his eyes, telling me i have worn out my welcome
so i leave
and i find you
alone in a booth by the window
looking ruefully into the black depths of your big white mug
and i go to you; let you slip your fingers through mine
and again we find ourselves as before
endlessly intertwined.