I have seen you tracing all the curves,
scratching down from A to Z.

Some versions of yours were blue,
stolen some from the sky's hue.

Those letters red in rage,
all the emotions that were being caged.

Black was the darkest of all,
revealing secrets that were never known.

The ones in aberrant green,
expressed the fervor on the page like a screen.

But then as I started to evince,
you ran dry without no hints.

my love
she is noir-et-blanc
she sits by
the riverbanks
of my eyes;
she swims inside.

she swims and swims and swims inside
she swims, comes up to rest again

and what do you think?
mi amor, esta
colorida.
pero todo lo que ella sabe
is a world that makes her
black or white.

when it comes to precious,
beating hearts...
where is there room for grey?
and so,
she is noir-et-blanc
while holding many shades:

for there upon deliberation
on the precipice
lives the product of a life
under working eyes--

is she fair or stormy-skied,
do her flowers grow?
could you build a house on her?
and is she high, or low?

I love blueberries.  I love the groves
of almond trees
you see as you drive up to
Sacramento.
I love anchovies and
raw broccoli.
I love Spanish wine and the feel of
your tongue when I am
down between your legs.
I love Jacques Brel, and the piles of peaches
that appear in stores late
in the spring.  I love gin and tonic, Alexander
Calder’s
mobiles, and the
early novels of
Philip Roth. I love laying in
bed with you
looking at
pictures of
Greece.
I love smoked salmon,
especially on a bagel toasted
with a little bit of butter.
I love lemon drops,
Frank Sinatra, and e.e.
cummings.
I love the smell of
eucalyptus trees and those
long,
flat
strips of
bark
that
peel
off
their
trunks
like
paper.

I guess I'll write until the words
fall off this page.
Until the white noise in
this living room sounds
like friends.
Until this uneasy feeling in
my gut satiates like a
favorite meal.

I'll write until the world
makes sense again.
Or at least until this
cup of coffee needs refilling.

​turned my music volume up
just to find out that
loud is unclear
loud is vague
but loudness screams
what our lips can't
and it satisfies us
we thirst for something
we can't do for ourselves

like loving.