These are all just bad beginnings
in my search for a show-stopper,
a jaw-dropper,
trying to be just the right balance
of sarcastic and lovely,
the right balance of writer
that I idealize and am not,
of course,
what am I, a narcissist?

I'm trying to put into words
the feelings I told you I danced
because they are wordless (spaceful)
and because of you
I have to say them with voice;
what a dilemma is this--

That when I tell you with movement
what I can't say
you put me in the place
of having to voice it and now
I have no words
other than bad beginnings.

So is that it?
When I word to you
instead of dance for you (for me?)
what you have to return is a nothing,
a less-than-nothing saying,
saying nothing, leaving me

hurt and confused because
maybe there was a something
in all your nothing that I can't find--
because we are dealing in words now,
and I'm a movement reader.

And I know I will forgive you for this
but I won't forgive me for knowing that.

Even while I'm still so angry, it just reveals
my pathetic (patient?) desperation for your love,

But I didn't say this right.
I need to move (dance) this.

Walking together along the shore,
Hand in hand, shoulders touching,
Waves splash across our feet,
And for a moment, this moment,
I have never been so much at peace.
The warm breeze fills my ear
Like your quick-hot breath,
And I taste the saltspray on my tongue
Like your comfortable moisture.
Where the water slides across the beach
It glows the color of  your arms, your legs, your face,
While further up, the dry sand has the creamy, golden tone
Of your softer, hidden skin.
Look behind us here at how
The gray, relentless sea removes
The evidence that we have walked,
While in front of us,
The sands of Cancún curve away
Into a swollen orange late-day sun.
There is only now, my love,
Ahorita.