Content.
A lazy finger runs down my arm,
My curls are wild, floating up your pillowcase,
Like creeping vines entwined with dreams;
My eyes are closed.
You whisper about the brown of my skin,
The smooth earthy tones
Of fabled Aztec princesses,
The two small pyramids
You love to kiss,
The chalice of elixir
Of my thighs.
Content.
Worshipped.
Loved.
Wanted.
Your love reaches every corner in me,
My mind of metaphors,
My womanhood of wants,
My desire to be loved.
Completeness.
Sweet sugared syrupy caresses
Like Victorianesque courtships
Behind closed doors;
Courting of minds and ideas,
Two birds dancing love;
Hungry, ravenous raptures,
Nonhuman desires,
Tear me apart, want you so much.
Everything,
Everything,
Everything:
The hunger, the thirst, the sweetness,
The battle of minds, words, the challenge,
It convinces me of
Full, mature, unencumbered,
Growing, flourishing love.

In this room of total darkness
Alone with thoughts and dreams
I've had nightmares
Chasing demons off from you
And outside me
I've had hopes and planning sessions
Wedding and angels and cake

We embrace
And it's like I'm holding
The entire Universe in my arms,
Stars within stars,
And I look up
Into your eyes,
Black holes,
That pull me in
Into the nothingness of your peace,
Everything and nothing
Existing together separately.

In the summer,
I want to sit on your bed
and eat frozen
strawberries, red,
And ice cream,
And I want to lick
The sweetness of your lips
And talk about the stars
And their myths.
In the fall,
I want to wear your sweaters to bed,
And cuddle up to you in blankets,
And drink tea and hot chocolate with you,
Crunch the leaves with our boots
And hold hands.
In the winter,
I want to make love,
Skin to skin,
And the sunlight reflecting on the snow
Filling the room,
And keeping my socks on
And feeling your hands warm under the covers.
I want to start fires with a kiss.
In the spring,
I want to be reborn with you.
I want to be green and yellow,
Like dandelions,
And your breath to ******* away.
I want to be new.
I want colors to bloom in between our hands,
To fill your heart with flowers,
To smile like a child.

When the world starts crumbling around me
I close my eyes and build.
A shelf here, our bed there;
a table for four, a porch for more;
Hardwood floors, soft pillows;
your record player, a piano;
framed photographs of ruins;
a loveseat piled with books.
When I start to question,
I start to build.
And in the long silences between us,
I am furnishing our home,
piece by piece,
until I forget the question,
and remember
that I,
that we,
are under construction.

I wonder if I have demonized you so much
Because what you did was so immoral-
So wrong, unholy.
Was it because I want to **** myself
For opening the space inside my lungs,
The space inside my heart?

I could forgive you,
But we are ******.

And I'm not in the business
Of pardoning sins.

The odds have always been against.
What were the chances,
that you would be born?
That out of 6 billion lives,
mine would be the one you touched?
Barely, any.
Yet your "hi" was the one,
the one to stir something inside me;
Every glance,
exchanged word,
and I realized that
while still alive,
my lungs were screaming
"help" all this time.
That you and I would coincide
was nothing but a statistical challenge;
our love the analyses life is made of.
I'm here with you now,
and our lungs are intertwined,
now forever.

At some point in the history of the Universe
we began this ascent to humankind;
ironically, this step has led to the descent of the Universe,
as humanness becomes synonymous to destruction,
pollution of our waters and mountains,
our atmosphere and beyond.
Every meter of our existence
has been marked by extinctions,
first, of our brethren, and next of our resources.
The large disparity between
what we think makes us human,
and what we as humans do
hardly seems appropriate in retrospect.
For example,
the end of the most iconic decade of the 20th century:
"one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind"
and yet, less than half a century later,
the gap size between one human and the other,
between my humanness and their humanness
is still extremely large;
we put a man on the moon,
but we have yet to put humanity
in the corporate heads' souls,
in the fascist dictatorships' hearts,
in the bigoted religious zealots,
the cynical, cold atheists
and the downtrodden, fallen generation.

Only you
Make me want to stay home with you,
Curl up to read and write,
Reminding me to breathe and smile.
Simply you.

Since you've come to stay,
There is a pulsating hope
Emanating from every
Pore of my skin.
How lovely you are, sir, broken pieces
And all,
Never underestimating your dreams,
Insisting to be the best.
Every day, I love you more.

I am an ocean.
You give me all your broken pieces
And I swallow them whole;
Wave after wave,
And I return them to you,
Smooth glass.
They will no longer fit together
Like they used to,
But they will be beautiful.

"If you are not growing
then you are dying."
For a second I stood stagnant,
I was dying, with eyes wide open.
There were the moments I felt alive,
when I was in your arms,
and your lips were whispering truths
along mine,
truths neither of us understood- yet.
When we were out of breath,
our hearts caught somewhere
in our throats,
and our bones were in love with each other,
but our brains could not admit it- yet.
There were those moments,
and then I was dying.

And he came,
with whispers and soft fingers,
he sat across from me
and bought me a sugary carrot cake,
and I sipped on hot chocolate
and I kicked his feet with mine,
like old times,
like-
like my best friend.
I met his place for the first time,
the first one of us to have left,
to be making it on their own-
and my eyes were wide with novelty.
Again,
I sat across from him,
an unopened wine bottle between us,
with my secrets about you
taking up space at the table,
with his words about your lies,
and my fears exposed on my skin.
I was almost in tears.
And he took a breath
and spoke,
about some night with friends,
and how it turned into an idea,
that maybe we could learn together.
He looked me in the eyes,
eyes I had known as comfort,
and said,
"I don't love you like this now,"
and he took my hand,
"but I can learn to love you,
I can open that door for you,
like he doesn't want to,
like he won't ever do for you."
There were all sorts of hurt
floating in the air around us:
it was intoxicating.
He kissed me-
this, this boy, my best friend,
he placed his hand on my lap,
and he kissed me;
shyly at first,
and then,
and then I wasn't there anymore.
I was pretending,
that I wasn't pretending it was you.
I came back to covers,
the first time I had been like this
on a bed,
and I thought,
why couldn't this be you?
And I felt *****,
like if his hands had smeared my body
with glue
and all the lint, dust and dirt
were sticking to my skin
like leeches,
slimy, gooey, gross.
I was there,
and I was hiding.
Ashamed.
He looked like he would be smoking,
if that were his thing,
and it was quiet.
I wanted to throw up.
He wanted to go to work.
I wanted a hug,
he'd had what he wanted.
He didn't even take me home.
At home,
I sank into the bathroom floor.
And I cried.
Because it wasn't you,
and I had failed;
because I knew
what friendship that was,
was now dead;
Because I wanted to die,
than face you
with my body tainted;
I cried
because that's how I learned
I loved you.
And I cried again,
when you cried,
and I have cried again,
when you aren't there,
and I feel the shame,
shame, shame, shame,
flowing through my veins,
and the bile rises up,
and I want to forget.
He took my body,
to make the sadness feel less,
for me, for him,
to make the hurt smell like desire
instead of pain,
and that did not work:
I loved you,
and he could not love me,
I loved you,
empty spaces and question marks;
and it made me sad,
perhaps as sad as him.