Y de pronto notar
que era imposible,
que los nervios me dilataban,
que te buscaba,
y aveces nos encontrábamos
en el mismo lugar….
Pero lo mejor fue
encontrarte esa noche,
que entre los demás,
se sintiera la noche
solo nuestra,
en un piso de escenario,
con aliento de tequila,
y canciones de amor,
unidos bajo el latido de tu corazón,
y aun en esa nube pensando,
“esto no es real…”
Despertar al otro dia,
medio adolorida por amanecer sola
y preguntandome si
de veras sucedio?

te había querido antes,
y mas de una vez así;
te había conocido ya
tus gestos, tu respiración;
te había aprendido
tus labios, tus manos;
te había sentido
tu piel ardiente,
tu necesidad mojada....
y sin embargo ahora
no te reconocí.
era la misma piel,
y no lo era;
era tu misma lengua,
y no era igual;
era tu mismo cuerpo,
pero era diferente:
tus caricias alcanzaban,
esta vez,
lo que antes no podían
de mi;
tus manos hacían temblar
las partes de mi que
nunca habías tocado,
no, no,
escúchame:
pensábamos que ya habíamos
explorado todo y no,
esta vez tocaste mas allá,
mucho mas allá,
de mi cuerpo;
esta vez
llegaste a mi.
Parecíamos los dos
los mismos,
pero esta vez,
te quise
por que me quisiste,
así sin condición,
así sin pretender.
parecíamos los mismos,
pero algo cambio.

La tempestad sirve esta noche
De música de fondo,
El tintintin
De la lluvia simula
El tantantan
De nuestros corazones
Aquella otra noche.

Y ahora recuerdo
Tus palabras
que me besaban
Entonces
Con grandes aires
De ser eternas.

Y me acuerdo también
De las ultimas
Que me distes,

Decías,
“perdón, si he fallado”

Y conteste,
“¿De que? Si nunca hubo promesas”

Y reíste
Un poco arrepentido,
“entonces por eso, perdón”

Y ahora para de llover
Y despeja el cielo
De ahora otra tierra
Y las estrellas no son las mismas,
Las de esa noche:

Ahora me recuerdan
Que ha pasado
Tiempo, fronteras, y gente
Que ahora estas mas lejos
Que nunca.

Pero todo va bien
Porque nunca rompiste
Tus promesas
Que no me distes.

Como te agrego a esta historia?
a este relato de lo que es mi vida,
este cuento imaginario
de lo que quisiera que fuera?
te tejo de entrada a salida
en punto derecho o al revés
en forma de corazoncillos,
y para que?
en la noche los deshago
nudo por nudo
como si eso quitara
el mas grande en mi garganta
y me quedo sin nada mas
que un hilo enredado…
te pego como papel,
con unas gotas de resistol
y mucha paciencia,
a la superficie de mi alma,
y llegan las lagrimas
a mojarte y deshacerte
en la madrugada…
te amarro a mi ser,
con besos y caricias,
y en la noche
te libero de esas cadenas,
y espero inocente
a que te mantengas conmigo
aun sin ellas…
despierto en el frió
de la oscuridad,
y un poco sorprendida
volteo a no encontrarte
junto a mi…
y entonces,
solo fue un sueño?

There is a universe in your eyes,
Your dreamlike, dreaming eyes ,
An ocean at your fingertips,
Soft and fluid,
Warm and slow.
There is the way I can reach you
On the tips of my toes.
And I stopped being the Moon-
The way I became the Earth,
Orbiting 'round you,
The Sun,
And everything became brightness.
There is the way we love,
Sweaty crazy love,
In 10 degree weather,
Snow on the ground
And so much warmth on our skin.
The way your hand whispers
Secrets over my scars,
And your kisses scatter hopes
Across my back.
There is the way time has disappeared,
Irrelevant,
Because the eternal
Doesn't count its seconds,
But rather lives it
Like there is only now.
There is your smile,
Soft,
Right before you kiss me again,
Right after I am sighing again.
There is you, love,
My anchor to this world,
My wings to the heavens,
My dreams at night
And purpose in the mornings.
There is you, love,
My Northern Star,
My children's father,
My soul's light.
There is you,
Your eyes,
You.

me juro mil veces en vano
que no te dirigiré ni una mirada,
ni una palabra
pero sin pensarlo
ahí estamos otra vez,
con solo verte llegar
se me olvidan
las horas esperando
una señal,
una palabra,
una mirada;
se me olvida
que ayer no dormí,
por querer de almohada
tus costillas;
que hoy no comí,
por querer probar
tus labios,
que mañana no viviré,
por querer vivir en ti…
y todo eso se me escapa,
al tenerte otra vez aquí,
y sin pensarlo,
vuelvo a soñar, saborear y respirar.

you were a television soldier,
and played into the hours of the morning,
killing virtual versions of demons gone amok;
this was better than staying here with me,
and chasing mine away.
you were a television soldier,
and i would smile to imagine you,
my little pacifist shooting away,
turning into a gory executioner;
the smile would fade.
your hands were not meant to ****.
your mind was not meant to contemplate ******.
no, your hands were meant to caress,
my body and my soul;
your mind was meant to consider life with me.
you were a television soldier,
but you want to serve a nation?
serve it here with me:
what this country needs is not war,
or more young men dying;
no what this country needs is love.

i need you like the moon does the sun,
like this, me, the moon,
living off your light,
and you, the sun,
shining on your own,
without needing me.

quisiera escaparme contigo,
vivir un poquito una parte de ti:
la noche, y su madrugada.

han pasado
3 meses
3 semanas
2 dias
y 5 horas;
han pasado
4 manos,
2 bocas,
400 y 12 huesos.
Han pasado,
y nada de eso
se ha quedado
en mi,
como los
6 meses,
1 semana,
un dia,
y 12 horas;
como tus
10 dedos,
2 ojos,
30 y 2 dientes,
y tus
2 botas.
han pasado,
y yo sigo
contando,
al reves,
y sin querer,
cuento aun contigo.

What are your hands like?

cold, trembling fingers

trailing down my back.....

the anticipation of your thumb

caressing my hip, softly, unassuming;

or, your index finger

brushing the hair out of my eyes;

or, the thirsty way your *******

reaches, earns it's indecency,

within me;

or the way your pinky

grazes my lips, tenderly.

They are rough palms,

pressing against my navel,

holding my knees steady,

they are

nails cut short,

and knuckles callused,

sheer effort

and strength,

a warm embrace,

a subtle claim.

me haria un vestido
con una falda con los pétalos
de las rosas que me regalaste
sin razón,
una corona de las ideas
que compartimos,
y un collar que de dije
lleve tu corazón…
pintaría un mar
con los besos que me diste,
una nube de suspiros,
y un cielo con las huellas de tus dedos.

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.

Escóndete
Correme
igual sabes que nos volveremos
a encontrar,
a chocar,
a hallar.
Vete, déjame,
Yo se que no me quieres;
Pero búscame
Engañame
Igual y te voy a creer…

El álbum que nunca quise escuchar
sin que estuvieras tu ahí
ahora se repite mil veces
en esta soledad…
disonante su tambor,
su guitarra en pena,
y una voz haciendo el amor,
y mi piel busca la tuya.

He kisses the scar from that day,
When fear and pain collided,
And we were alone, together.

He said it was beautiful:
A small scar,
From a big scare;
A reassurance that we were ok.

He passed his fingers lightly,
As if they were, too, afraid,
And leaned in for a tender kiss.

My navel has been home to many things.
Butterflies and boiling acid,
Bubbling over and out my mouth.

It had known his rough calloused palms,
The lightness of his tongue,
The red, red, red pain.

It was in comfort now,
Warm, with his little butterfly kisses,
Tracing petals around the wound.

The self consciousness blushed pink,
My hand rushed to cover the scar,
"No, you are beautiful."

My scars mean I overcame.
I continue to live and grow.
I am beautiful despite all.

mi cuerpo
extraña
a tu cuerpo,
aunque
la mente
y el corazón
se destrozan
por callarlo;
aunque
calle,
y pretenda
estar molesta,
espero
ansiosa
por sentirte
cerca,
una
vez
mas.

Touch me.
your body
of skin and bones,
your lips of nerves,
your eyes
of receptors,
cones and rods.
Touch me.
your fingers
of loneliness,
your tongue
of electric desire.
Touch me.
Touch me,
my heart of knotted veins,
my arms of weak resolve.
Touch me,
my trembling knees,
my navel of soft whispers
and my toes of quiet pain.
Touch me,
baby,
touch me.

te necesito igual que la luna al sol,
asi yo, luna,
viviendo de tu luz,
y tu, sol,
brillando por ti mismo,
sin necesidad de mi.

y depues de todo,
apesar de todo,
aqui sigo,
igual,
no,
parecida,
a la que te esperaba
noche tras noche….
despues de todo,
seguir igual.

y al ritmo de una guitarra melancólica,
tu respiración competía
con el latido de tu corazón,
ahí, sobre mi vientre,
y retumbaba de mi ombligo
hasta las puntas de los dedos.

her skin was pale,
i guess that's what they mean about french girls;
her lips were red
as they sipped
that fruity little drink
at a second-rate club,
and her
green, pleated skirt
swished
to the rhythm of some song.
i sat at the bar,
looking at my own hands,
brown like caramel,
and
realized for a moment,
that i could fall in love
with the milky skin
of her calves.
i guess that's what they mean about french girls.
she spoke in english,
with an intoxicating accent
that became more slurred
the more she tried to quench her thirst.
she smiled at me.  
her brown curls bounced on her shoulders,
and she danced
with the Arabic boy
that had been staring at her since
that first day we left the country
for the weekend.
for that moment,
i questioned my self,
and
i guess that's what they mean about french girls.

Women are supposed to understand.
We are supposed to agree.
Supposed to care.
Supposed to be sensitive.
Women are supposed to give you
Those warm hugs that make
the world feel alright again.
They're supposed to wait on you,
Kiss you,
Open their hearts
And legs,
And bring you joy
and present you with
Vulnerability.
Women.
We are supposed to understand,
And stay calm,
And see it from your point of view.
We are supposed to be sensitive,
But strong,
Both just enough to comfort you,
Not too much to disturb.
Women are supposed to heal you,
Even as they cut themselves removing
Sharp, spiny thorns from you.
We are supposed to let ourselves be touched,
If we love you,
When you want;
Even, when we long for a different kind of touch.
We are supposed to be open and vulnerable,
Telling you our stories
Our dreams and hopes and fears,
Ecen though you would keep us
Half-guessing your thoughts,
Perhaps until we prove ourselves.
Should women guard their secrets instead?
Women are supposed to be quiet,
Wait to be called,
Don't cry,
Don't hurt,
Don't fight.
Just understand
And listen and care.
Just give and give,
And give and give.

i remember that day
i took your hand,
hoping to find a little bit of warmth:
your fingers did not curl around mine;
i froze.
"You don't want to?"
i asked, my voice rising a little,
in time with my temper.
yours matched mine.
"what? i didn't say anything."
my fingers curled around your unmoving hand.
i wanted to cry.
we continued to walk,
my eyes staring at the concrete.
i wanted so much to be cared for.
and here i was instead,
holding on to unhappiness.
it was a quiet walk home,
it was cold.
i took my hand into my pocket,
and you said nothing.
i always needed you more,
more than you did me.

eres lo mas bellamente triste que me ha pasado
you are the most beautifully sad thing that has happened to me
私へ、あなたが美しく悲しいです

they have passed:
3 months
3 weeks
2 days
and 5 hours;
they have passed
4 hands,
2 mouths,
400 and 12 bones.
they have passed
and none of those
have stayed in me,
like those
6 months
1 week
1 day
and 12 hours;
like your
10 fingers,
2 eyes,
30 and 2 teeth,
and your
2 boots.
they have passed,
and i continue
counting,
backwards,
and without wanting to,
I still count on you.

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

a single rose could speak.
of the ones that were held between us,
they listened to what we were saying:
they were not a testament of a love,
but maybe they witnessed a beginning...
if a single rose could speak,
from that withering, lonely bouquet,
it would say that
sometimes the breath of the girl that held them
was caught in the petals,
that the thoughts of the boy
were wrapped around the stems,
that the unsaid couple
was trying to trace their start,
that their start began at the end,
that one day, they will reach the finish line,
at the start of that December night,
a year and 2 months ago.

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.

what is making love?
you kissed me,
and you loved my body,
not much different than before...
nothing had really changed,
but then,
why did my heart feel heavy?
even as i shook from the pleasure,
as i clutched for a little restraint,
my grasp weakened:
all i wanted,
was to curl up and cry.
it wasn't love.
i know you need me then.
i know you want me then.
but i need a little more than that:
i am selfish, perhaps.
you kissed the tears away,
not missing a beat....
but i love you,
and it hurts,
to be in your arms,
to be held and to be touched,
without being loved the same way.

te piensas ir:
no quiero que te vayas;
no me dejes, no.

do you ever break, dear?
It seems that i am always the one
speaking, crying, complaining,
jabbering away
with pointless words,
thoughts pouring out of my lips
in pools of meaninglessness;
do you ever break?
do you ever sit back and wonder,
what is going on?
why is this my life,
my choices,
why am I happy,
or not happy,
why have I chosen you?
do you ever break, dear,
and wonder,
if you could open up completely
to me?
enough to cry,
or whisper your deepest fears,
fall in love with me,
or even just so I can know you?
Will you break,
like I’ve broken,
into a million pieces
so that each can be carried
inside each other’s pockets?
Will you ever break,
so that I can love you,
honestly,
completely,
and only,
you?

"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.

"we"
were born on a night like this,
cold, freezing, icy,
on a night like this,
last year.
i always remember the strangest things.
like,
remember how your phone rang?
you upgraded that phone,
it rings differently now.
and
i remember the coffee grounds
in your cup
and how we hid
quietly in the dark room
as my name was being called...
i remember so much,
how "we" came to be...
how you smiled
as you led me away from the stage...
and how i felt as you carried me,
and how it felt to meet your lips,
for the very first time....
i remember how happy i felt,
so happy i could cry.
i remember how i measured my foot against yours
afterwards, when we had joined everyone again.
i remember the hint of *****
as i said goodbye,
how it felt almost like a toast to us.
i remember how good it felt to start the year like that.

i hate how you make me feel
you bring me up so high
so i can breathe the stars
we count at night
and then
it gets so cold
when you’re not around
when not even a whisper
a call
a word
nothing
and then, i can feel you
slipping away,
i hate you because i can see
i can see the end already,
and isn’t it so sad?
because there’s the time before you,
the time with you,
but the time after you,
is that really going to exist at all?
i hate you
because i should have known better.
i hate you because i did,
and you spoke
the key words
and you opened all the doors
and i was left unguarded.
i hate you because
somehow you knew me better than myself,
because you figured out
the cleanest way to my soul
before i could.
i hate you because you will take
parts of me that i
could never get back.
i hate you because
i don’t want to love you.

It’s a little complicated.
In July he broke my heart.
On New Year’s Eve he broke my soul.
And yet here I am wishing
That this year can be different:
That his vision of us walking around
Aimlessly, without conditions,
Can come true.
I see my mistakes
And his lovingly more
And i want so much to turn time back.
It’s a little bit tough.
A broken heart hurts,
But a broken soul
Feels empty,
Feels guilty,
Wet from the tears
And gone into depths
Of lonesome nights.

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

I fell in love
with the way your fingers held a pencil,
the way you tapped your foot
impatiently on the floor,
the way you sat,
knees out,
ankles together,
tall.

His eyes, huge and eyelashes long
and his fingers are rough,
and his tongue, electric….
his hair is
knotted between my fingers,
and his arms..
are holding up my heart.
here, it is raining,
like my eyes,
but he whispers,
“don’t worry.”
So, I won’t.