She glides across the ice
Circling sparkles
Skates shush across the floor
Shimmering spray
Lights that play
Lithe dancer aloft she spins and soars
Gentle hips swing in the crystalline breeze
Pirohuettes descend
Tattooing lines
Etching ice pristine
Canvas clean
Sacred movement
Soul designs

This life is a fragile dancer
Clad in fluttering sunset hue
The rushing blood of a sweet romancer
A flood of colors in twilight blue
2006 TL Boehm

He was born from spring rains
When new leaves unfurled
Heady sweet mimosa and willow
Filling the air with peaceful green
Lacing the ground in spinning shifting patterns
Scattered sunlight as drops dripped from trees
Knee deep in rivulets bubbling and rushing
To my back door.
He called me out to play

I ran with him hand in hand abandoning
The mundane four walled pristine
Plaster world I passed as real
Feeling cool fronds brush against my hungry cheek
Neck tilted
Back arched
Swallowing the droplets as they trickled from
The branches
Unmoved by the rushing water
The thunder
Spring rains turning to the deluge
Of a summer storm
Innocence swept away on the furious current

Now I dream in green
Fervent unseen passion
Masked by my lack of reaction
Yet the back door stays open
As spring rains drip from leaves
Rustled by a gentle breeze
Could it be that he...
Comes calling me to play

TL Boehm
072206

I lean back on my factory-fresh
Couch (that still smells of IKEA)
And turn that Jeff Buckley's Grace
Up so loud the cat escapes under

The bed; ears flat, wide eyed...
And remember. I flip through
My own history -forgotten love,
Nights of such beauty they

Forged themselves onto my
Mind. I see myself stronger;
Dumber. Rougher hands and
Mind.

I hear Chris Cornell and Tori
Amos in shared recollection.
I walked Oslo's paved streets
From a job I loathed.

But it was summer.
I was free.
I was a rock star waiting
To be.

I see hopes I had that remind me
It's not too late for that.
And begin to resonate with
This is your time.

This is when you choose your
Future. Choose.
It's never too late for
Anything.

when i look at you
my fragile heart feels like it's ruthlessly
being squeezed as a doused sponge would be
when the soapy water is being drained from it.

when i think of you
my dead brain feels like it has blacked out
as if it were in a one-on-one cage match
and the opponent took advantage of an open shot.

but when i'm physically with you
all i want to do is trace uneven circles
around your porcelain skin and plant dainty flowers
in the sidewalk cracks of your lips.

i want to tell you how you make my heart uneasy and my mind unsure.
it hurts to know that i don't even need to tell you because you're already aware.

you like the power you get
from being the dishwasher and the winning opponent.
you like the feeling
of geometry being invisibly painted on your porcelain skin.
you like being the soil in which i delicately garden and harvest you.

i guess when you're done you can hang me up to dry
with my black eye being the only thing i get in return for loving you.

                                                           ­                                        -h.m.r.