It has been raining
For so long that
I have grown accustomed
To the sound of
Sloshing puddles
Being tossed around
By the traffic outside
My window.

Inside my bedroom,
Laying in the pitch black
With nothing but a
bright, white screen
In front of me,
Squinting as I listen
To the motors and
The sloshing puddles
Trying not to think
Of you.

Even breathing
Next to me,
The sky lightening and
Illuminating the tapestry
Over my window that
Mildly mutes the sound
Of the sloshing and
The motors as I lay
Trying not to think
Of you.

Facing the edge,
A corner of the covers
Covering me,
I feel exposed
And not because
I'm naked and the blanket
Doesn't cover.

The shadow breathes
Sighing next to me and
Rolls over taking more
Of the warmth with it.
And I'm cold.
Not because of the covers
Or because I'm naked.

I need you.

The motor sounds and
Sloshing puddles are outside
My window and if I focus hard
Enough I won't cry as I try
Not to think
About you.

It starts as a drop.
One single drop.
It spreads over the heated
Surface multiplying into many.

Before you can control it
Before you have a chance to
Stop the reaction
It goes without your permission,
The catalyst sparked.

The heat fuels it,
The oil flavors it,
The salt encourages,
And it bubbles.

Turn down the heat?
Not yet.
Let it simmer,
Be patient,
So it builds.

Just let it be,
Watching it won't help
The focus,
Until it boils.

Snap and release,
Relax and let ease
Into the boil,
Into the heat.

Plump and soften,
Ripe to eat.

You're 5 foot 6 inches,
you know, not the 5 foot
8 inches that you claim
on the face of your
Texas driver's license--

Your hair was long
and curly then, and so sunny
beach blonde that you
could have walked right
out of the ocean and--

Right, thinking about
your driver's license at 6am
not having been to sleep
isn't what I should be thinking about.

But it is.

Your quiet disposition,
offering a distinct proposition,
Your eyebrow delivering
due suspicion as it
raises in question.

That look
so hard to deny,
as I sway my hips
sauntering towards you
methodically, calculated
like a pendulum on a
grandfather clock.

As I reach the edge
of the bed where you lay,
knees following behind my
hands as I crawl towards you
on the smooth,
navy blue sheets.

It's not an electricity
but a hot pulse
that I feel, as I lay
my head gently on
your chest, as you stare
at me:

Like a predator
stalking his next meal
casually, as he allows the
prey to come to him.

Then you stroke my
hair with such tenderness,
pulling my body into
yours with such care

Knowing that you would
be more than content
just to be able to hold me.

Vivid depictions
of street corners
with glaring lamps
lighting only
a portion of the walk,
as you stroll in and out
of the spotlight

Flashing glances
from strange passerby,
as they shuffle on their
daily commute to
wherever it is
they are going

Sitting Straight,
upright in the
blue chairs,
in the classes
that come and go
and leave no more
of a mark on you
than they did
before you stepped
in the room

Flashing Lights
from the neon sign
as an advertisement
for the bare skin
& money &
alcohol that just
goes right through
you in the end

Forced smiles
for the customers
who are not buying
anything, but insist
that the prices
are lower, that
You have no idea
about the products in
your own store, and that
you're wrong

Simple Connection
between one person
and another, the community
created between one heart's
compassion and another's
misfortune, sharing in a bond
so undeniably deep
cradling the essence of
humanity in the folds

That time I stooped
down really low to the ground
just to hear where the cricket
sound was coming from,

lingers just as the smell
of the wet grass in
springtime when it's
a vibrant shade of green
instead of dead shade of brown.

That time that we pinky swore:
"I'll go if you go",
untamed matted hair flying
through the wind as we ran
as fast as we could right up to
that hill and tucked into a tumble,
rolling like over-sized armadillos
down our very own
vibrantly green
nature slide.

That time we were at
your house, and the permanent
markers were begging for us
to pop off their smooth shiny caps,
as our Barbies relaxed in your
Malibu Barbie Pink Sports Convertible.

The makeup and tattoos
in red and vibrant green and blue
that graced the hard plastic skin
of their smiling faces
never came off.

Pouring a glass of skim milk
and squeezing a bottle of
Hershey's chocolate syrup
into the glass,
until the last drop is drained
from its wheezing container

Watching, as the chocolate
settles at the bottom of the
glass, creating a barrier
between the creamy ivory
and the sticky, rich brown.

Taking a spoon
and putting it in the glass,
stirring up the milk and
forcing it to take on
the identity of the chocolate,
the spoon clinking merrily
as it churns two very
distinct substances
into one entity:

The milk with the
brown sugar coating,
Allowing for you
to think for a moment:
the skim milk
doesn't taste so bad.