It’s interesting how the
Shyer crowds manage
To communicate with each other

A silent eye conversation
Of pure flirtation
All the extroverts oblivious

A trail of fingers across warm skin
The teacher snaps at a popular pair playing footsie
And the two continue their game

The sneaky *******
Were never suspected, until!
One turned up with a love bruise

*Gasp!

To my socks,
We play footsie every day,
I can't go anywhere without you.
To my socks,
You are like a ******,
when my feet are without you,
They are susceptible to great danger.
With you,
Less so.
When in shoes,
Without you, is like a sweaty, fiery hell,
No relief.
With you,
Soft, comfy, footy majestic ness.
Walking on cold floors,
You are still there for me.
Even for that poor boy Richard, he uses socks now and then,
For his silly foot,
Poor boy.
I admire you dear socks,
They're is nothing else I would rather have on my feet.

Tonight,
I watched you quietly again
But all these future memories
Kept projecting in my brain

We'd go to baseball games
And play footsie on top of the littered popcorn
Comfort would take over
Mending a wound we used to mourn

We'd eat breakfast in bed
And tumble on top of each other
Laughter would pierce through
Filling a void left by another

We'd see concerts at dusk
And dance under the twilight sky
Lightness would bloom
Where sorrow used to be disguised

We'd make love in the afternoon
And feel the weight of us two
Desire would burst through
Finally finding something that's true

We'd stay out late in the city
And kiss in the light pollution haze
Love would wash over us
Sticking where it never used to stay

But tonight,
You didn't even know my name
So I settled for a shy smile
From across the room as you looked my way.

Him:
Do you want to share my ice cream
play footsie?
Inch by inch
I’ll climb up
You eat

Her:
I want to go horseback riding
By candlelight
With a bottle of wine
squeezing with my thighs
I want a stallion

The song
playing in this cafe
is an indie movie cliche
and it makes nothing else matter
besides the empty seat in front of me
and how I wish
there a was a man in it
I could smile at
and maybe
play a little footsie

We keep an empty chair
Between us so our consciences stay
Clean, but your legs are crossed,
Your shoe points in my direction.
Our feet like to lead us
Where our hearts have already wandered.
I like to think about you
Getting dressed in the morning,
pulling on your shoes.
I wonder if it crossed your mind
That later your shoe and my boot
Would touch under that empty chair.

So there was this girl. And I met her my freshman year in German class, fourth hour. Her name was Sophia and I thought she was weird and creepy because she stared and didn't talk and tried to play footsie with me and me being the still-self-loathing queer that I am was desperately terrified that anyone would know I was bi. So I gave her mean looks, didn't look at her eyes, turned from her, ignored her. The list goes on. And then she basically disappears for the next two years. And last year, my senior year, I had her in my first semester second hour German class. And she was different. I thought hey. "Maybe she's cooler now, she's kinda a bit cute maybe I'll get to know???? Her ??? Maybe ???? And so we kinda talked a lil lil bit, but not really talking till xc skiing started, in November. I don't know I what it was, but I thought "hey. She's cute AND smart" so I made up a little brouhaha till I was suddenly driving with her to practice. Every day. And I learned she was kind, smart, funny, hilarious, BEAUTIFUL, kept me on my toes... The list goes on. As I spent more and more time with her, more and more time following her like a lost puppy, i feel deeper and deeper into love. She never texted a lot, so I started to text my thoughts to her with no expectation of a text back. I knew she appreciated them even if she didn't reply. And when she did reply, BLAM! A lightning bolt would slam into my stomach each time I saw her name in my notifications screen. I treasured those texts back, and stated writing poems about her, to her, inspired by her, inspired by HER, seeing her blonde hair every time I looked at the sun, her blue eyes in every lake and clear day and for-get-me-not and her big nose in my mind's peripheral vision and her cute small firm **** and the way she walked, straight up, so solid and set-forth and DEtermined, ******* (though she would never swear) to get to where she was going. I couldn't get her out of my head. Her just, state of being. I'd never met a creature so quietly, yet so determinedly set on who they were and how they were. The way she always knew what to say. I swear to god I thought this girl was an angel. When I looked at her, I wanted to trail my fingers over every inch of her, memorizing it, imprinting it on my bones, that intimate knowledge of you to visible eons from now. I would've climbed through hell for her, to just get five minutes of her, a nod a smile a GEN-YOU-INE laugh *******. I thought about how our bodies would fit together, the ghosting of lips over parts only The Holy Ones know. The way we'd sit together, soft and silent, barely touching but very at peace, and I was planning a title for a book of my poetry entitled "A Series of Notes to the Love of my Life (And a Cherishment of Nature)". I mean I thought this girl, this one in the world-universe, was my everything my holy savior my holy love my holy angel. I just thought that feeling, this feeling that was so intense, was because that was RIGHT. AND must BE. So I fell deeper and deeper, snatching knowledge bits of her that I could, leaving sweet notes and compliments, all over and to who ever for her. I asked her to prom. Through a letter I gave her, with a kayak-Paddler necklace in it. I'd never been brave enough to think about doing that before, ADMITTING my feelings for the girl. I was so smooth and charming and kind (cause I thought she might kinda maybe be gay or at least gay ish way and thought if she was and liked me too she might wanna be going "as friends" or something) and she said yes. I was so happy. It made my whole day better. Forever. I thought about slow dancing with her, imagined pictures floating about in my daydreams, taking up all time and space. And we went. Except she invited her best friend along too who she stayed glued to all night and never danced with me and barely looked at me And I felt like a third wheel to THEM, and so we got home and I was sad and tired and didn't want to do anything but we went on a night kayak and and I told her she was the most beautiful girl there by far and I had so much fun with her and on and on and I was just. So sweet to her how could she not know I like her ****. And she just said. "Oh you're so sweet." And she might've said something else, something idk, but I was just so bitterly in love but wanting her all the same and loathing her with how and by and why I wanted her attention. And I continued falling, ignoring the bitter bad parts of our relationship in favor of the new small things I'd learn about her. And for her birthday, July something, I was gonna give a small box id make in woodworking with a beautifully planned out and executed *** from ceramics with a nice letter telling her how amazing I thought she was and how I might tell her how i feel. And I made them, falling worse and worse daily. So in love. And I awkwardly increased the looks, the poems, the sighs and dreams and wishes. And school ended, we graduated, with pictures and a letter to her from me about how cool she was and a promise of a Better letter with her bday gift. I kept sending her my thoughts, asking her to hangout, (we never did) and telling her I missed her. Well I finished her gift and packed it. The letter, and all. By this time I had tried to get over her. I thought I was (except for the bits that stick with you You Know) and we'd just be friends but-I'm-cool-with-More. Forever. I thought this friend was a Real Deal. Once in. A lifetime. So I gave her the gift, then she didn't open if(or maybe she did and wanted to pretend she didn't open) cause she had a 30-day trip. No phones. I sent her some of my thoughts, not all you know. Didn't wanna overload her texts when she gets back. And I waited, and waited. And it had been thirty days! I Waited for some notification that she saw it, that she opened something. I texted her. Her read receipts? On. She saw it. No reply. I waited and texted and waited and texted. Each message more sour than the last. Eventually I all hope. I said to her I was disappointed in her (I had come out to her as bi in my letter, something I wasn't sure she supported.) so I'm devastated now. I thought she'd be in my life forever, how could an angel like that not stay????? But she's gone. I might never know what she really thought and why she didn't reply. It makes me lose so much faith and hope and love in humanity when someone like that leaves your life. It cracked my soul and I honestly think I might never be able to trust anYONE completely. Ever. Because of a girl like her. She broke my heart and never even knew she had it. Or maybe she did. I guess I might never know. It makes me so sad. She absolutely crushed me, quietly and subtly. I do think I'm ruined for life. Even if only slightly. I might slowly be losing my sanity. I just want to talk to you. Please. What did I do? God I loved you. I still might. Please just stitch my soul back together, even just a little bit.

*****'s screws weren't loose,
they were missing,
all of them,
leaving gaping holes
of unpredictable insanity
in her manic life

only 22,
and built like haya,
the mistress of desire
and lust,
every male nurse and
a certain shrink  at the nut house
couldn't wait to ******
a missing ***** or two
into her

~ psychotherapy with a turgid twist ~

so mum the matron gave her
a protective room at our crib

only 13,
and built like *** wee
the hermit of lore,
I sat at the dinner table
opposite *****

she played footsie
with my naked toes
then gave me the crazy eye
as her lazy tongue
slid in...and out...
of her crazy mouth

~ she needed some ***-wee therapy ~

seed planted,
*** wee fed the fantasy
until it bore fruit:
a succulent apple
in his prurient mind

~ ready to be ...reaped ~

*** wee knocked on the door
~ silence ~

knock.....knock....
~ silence ~

*** wee turned the ****
and there she was...

~ en el desnudo ~

curves, *****, legs
open and inviting,
vacuous eyes staring at me,
daring me...

then she started screaming....

~ P (Pablo)
(7/28/2013)

if my pen were a surgeon's blade,
cutting edge,
razor-made
to excise secrets suppressed
in closets of guilt
or shame;

like the married bishop
with the mega-church and
tera-ego,
trading ****** fluids
with choir boys
in the 9th grade
on wednesdays,
after bible study...

like the senator
with two right feet
preaching chastity
while playing footsie
with perfect strangers
on public seat # 2...

like the donald's high-ranking apprentice
who pulled the plug on mc
as he slept
then wept like boehner
all the way
to morgan stanley and
dean witter,
allegedly...

like the mayor out west
with pinocchio's nose
and jefferson's zest
for extra-marital ***,
lies
and belligerence...

like the late king
of pop
who so hated
his beautiful black skin,
he beached it white
then paid m. lester
of similar hue
a loot times two
to weave a blanket,
conceive a prince
and deliver a french city,
allegedly;

I would be a lyrical surgeon
with a passion
for incisive prose,
spilling truths hidden,
whole and half
with the cutting edge
of a poet's pen

~ P (‪#‎Pablo‬#ls)

(8/14/2013)

Oh Donald Trump may be an angry, narcissistic fool;
A racist, a misogynist and all-round half-baked tool.
Upon his nation and the world, he represents a curse,
but all of that's okay, you see, for Hillary was worse!

Oh Hillary, she had mad cow and syphilis and rabies.
She drank the blood of virgins and she lived to dine on babies,
and from her eyes shot laser beams while on a broom she flew.
In every way she's crooked, for The Donald says it's true!

She once was witnessed soaking in a lava-filled hot tub,
where she was playing footsie with her pal, Beelzebub!
To the Gulf and Caribbean she released the hurricane.
She brings the earthquake, fire, plague, and drought and flooding rain!

Although she now is history, with influence no more,
we must all hate her while The Donald's failings we ignore.
So while Trump spews his hate and puts all progress in reverse,
we must embrace his evil ways... For Hillary was worse!

With the buzz words, "the starving strive," there's no ****** to tilt the pain of not choosing to live life with blind eyes. Even the meek survive is inscribed, each inner-lip that spells out love is just another disgrace four-letter word of a four-letter cause. The environment we live is mocked and shaken to the core, what is this, "One Life To Live?" It's not one day at a time, it's day in day out, sit straight up, you can't just observe. As I choke from swearing, it's curse words that ring bigger than my mouth, I prefer to leave my pants off just get some head, choosing cuddling for grammar wars that then go on eating out. My prayer life is just another absentee ballot with full circles voided, I'm on my knees each morning and night, but I can't figure out when I'm going to start saying the right words. The horror of the story of being a kid, living life as a child has come and passed, I went from eating cereal with orange juice and Chocolate Nesquick, to stereotyping heavy metal to passing grass without letting the teacher's snoop in and find out. I listened to Paranoid, Parabol, Tool, Marilyn Manson, Black Sabbath, and the Irresponsible Hate Anthem, we wore our shirts inside-out, until we got a block away, then flipped the tags and turned our shirts right-side out. I couldn't mentally prepare for loss, ACT scores, or four years away bottoming out. I just jumped on my V-Card, grabbed a hot girl and took to the forest to get my card punched out. I sat on the back of the bus but not because I was cool, I just wanted to distance myself from any other kids that would try to ask me anything, and hide behind the seat in order to try and skip school. I'm fifteen, Dad bought me a suit for job interviews but its funerals I'm using it for, my best friend's Dad died on Christmas Day, but we were getting high and tripping too. One week later my Uncle is learning from Smith & Wesson, except it's footsie he's playing with his big toe, and it's his head that's learning the lesson. Four days pass and Joey used red rope licorice for tie a noose from his fan, two hours later, I hear about a guy falling 48 stories, but the truth is it's my Cousin Stan. Whether they die in a box or shooting up on the bathroom floor, I get tired of wearing my Summer-suit on Sunday afternoons in winter on the way to the funeral parlor. Closed-casket, national anthem, an equilateral flag placed over the grave. This wasn't the first time, it was the fifth, but the **** is I'm just in the 10th grade. There is no variable, to taking breaths, but the lungs give up trying to breathe in, especially when you're dead. The mental anguish subsides with cigarettes and coffee, but the look on their parent's face every single time I'm there, it will always haunt me.

Its cold as *****
In this little bougie hotel
Tour guide refers to his mouth as
"His crawl."
The Deep South yawns strings of pearls and white linen
Out of its luxurious mouth
Honeysuckle Rose Martini
A dash of lemonade
Remember when you came up to me
Your little dancer boy swagger

And you so joyously but cautiously touched my shoulder:
"Can I call you Lemon?"
I remember turning to my left, looking at you
Such happiness and newness in my eyes
Twinkling, don't go to the skatepark
"Yeah!" I said
Just waiting for you to come back.

I guess I have spent a lot of my life
Waiting for him or that--
To come back.
A slew of I love you's
A slew of promises and futures
My heart half in and half out
Of every single bit of it
An invisible stop sign in my face
Breaking and tearing
But ultimately surrendering
Down my own path

Poverty
Women
Black lives matter
White privilege
Terrorism

Why why why?

Riots in Chicago last night
I'm not a traditional religious woman
But I whisper to the goodness of the universe
That everyone in this world
Be kept safe.

Heres a written letter of my possible fruitful future
Don't toss me away
Don't look past what I could do
Brother goes on and on
About solar panels
Do something for the world, he says
As we debate and pontificate over our
Abundance of food
Good company and heads on our bodies
All I wanted to do was call you.

I don't know why some people don't text back
And I don't know why some people put guns in their hands
And I certainly don't know why more people don't just sit down
To write.

Playing footsie with autumn leaves on the ground
Hearing story after story about Jim Williams
Restorationist, murderer--his spirit lives on
In this here southern lil town
Lets stare at his old paintings
Or right where he passed away
Wander through his house
And wonder how and why his legacy stayed.

Do something for the world?
Awaking numb, words are even such a chore
But you said, you said they were my tool

I plug my phone in across the room.

tonight you told me
to remember this, in
your own way -- levity
leading the forefront;
"that(this) one night
when you stayed up
late, sewing and [stap]
[-ling] and otherwise
binding these little sheaves
of poetry for gifts to be
distributed the next day."

we relax and shrug off
the somewhat gruesome
dealings of the early evening,
speaking of perception and
human interfacing[projection].
a discussion of some deeper
thoughts followed, however
the part of me that still
wears footsie pajamas wouldn't
stop pulling on my arm.
as the clock hit 11:40, i went
to bed, turning briefly at the
stairs to say:
"merry christmas."

I have a white tank, see through,
and I like to wear leopard print bras with it.
(neon ones, pink ones, ones that scream
looklooklookatmemememe)
Je veux faire du pied a toi
‘I want to play footsie with you’
it smells like you, after fifteen washes.
‘I want to make out with you’
it is wrung from where you gripped and spread
‘I want to *******’
it used to fit so well,
but it hangs like a torn shower curtain.
it is hard to breathe with it on,
because I cannot think of anything else except you
fuckingmeinit.
the words are frayed,
an ashy blue with speckles of snow white.
such a cool shirt, I used to think.
but you bit through it, with wolf fangs,
bit through until you punctured my skin,
drained me until I was nothing but a sac of helpless
skin.

It has French on it,
(so ******* witty)

I

want

to

forgetyou.

"- Cheers Bob -"

The can't ****
squirrel arsed
paymefuckall's
say -

"Hey, we're on
the up lads
and the Footsie's
buoyant too !

Wall street's
through the ceiling
****'s beginning to accrue.

So we saw no need
for apprehension
we've done the deed
and spent yer pension" !!!

The Odd Sock.

At last the phenomenon can
be explained, scientifically.

For example, only 1% of the
population are ambidextrous.

Therefore, if socks, like shoes
had a definite left and right,

the incidence of errant socks
would be a virtual unknown.

Why?

If we always wore socks on
the correct feet as we do shoes,

the wear factor would be
of a noticeable similarity.

Interchanging socks from left
to right is what causes the problem.

To put this theory into perspective,
one needs to look at gloves.

The odd glove is not near as common as
the odd sock, because of a left and right.

Therefore, 99% of the worlds population
are prone to getting socked.

Zidane and Cristiano Ronaldo, both Pede-
Dexterous, never lost a sock in their lives.

the morning after
the sun sneaking through the blinds
naked and hungover
but not caring
because you were naked too
I know this because
while you were sleeping
I took a cheeky peek under the covers
I sleep with a body pillow
but waking up,
my arm around the real thing,
kicks the hell out of any pillow
and your hair was messy
i liked that, but knew you wouldn't
so I tucked it behind your ear
you letting out a breathy sigh
and I could tell you were smiling
by how your cheek bones raised
you playing footsie with me
and smiling
and ******* on my thumb
was an ego boost
because sober you
wasn't freaking the hell out
trying to find a way out of that stranger's attic bedroom
and we kissed
made out
and other stuff
which gentlemen don't talk about
and you got up to get dressed
standing naked trying to find your *******
me in bed saying
"stay in bed for a while longer
that plane to California
ain't going nowhere"
and you said
"yes it it,
it's going to California"
I knew that
but your *** looked great
pulling on those cut off denim shorts
but you had to go
and so did I
and I know *** is supposed to be for the mature
but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't
singing that entire ride home
"I GOT LAID LAST NIGHT!"
like a kid hyped up and hopped up on Halloween candy
It's nice being called "Good Morning"

I dreamed about you for what
May have been the first time.
You were explaining something
To me, preparing to leave.
I held you close against me,
And we played footsie.

I wrote a song and a poem.
I told my brother Jordan
That it was unlike
Anything I've ever written.
How proud of it I was.

You hoped for a new life
Outside of Florida.
Now you have it.

I never wanted
You to leave.
I couldn't do anything  
To stop you, or
Persuade you to stay.

You said we should
Stay in touch
Through letters.
The birthday card
You sent me last year
Is in my drawer, still.

I was a companion,
And a lousy mate,
Not a boyfriend.
I could have been.

I could have
Taken that title.
We could have
Played the dating
Game together.
We could have
Risked losing.

I chose to wait for a
More ideal candidate.
She never arrived,
As far as I know.

We had a few
Heated arguments.
The last stemmed
From my ignorance
In an area I believed
I should have been
Knowledgeable in.

I have a tendency
To be an ignorant
Know it all,
To have difficulty
With simple things.

You wanted to
Meet my grandma,
and I was afraid that
It would not go well,
Mainly due to the
Color of your skin.

Your mother encouraged
Me to talk to her about it,
To divulge to her what
Your friendship meant to me.

I decided against it.
At least you briefly
Met my mother who
You thought was nice.

I was angry when
You broke undesirable
News to me, in spite of it,
I would have never
Abandoned our friendship.

Nearly two years later,
And I still have
To be informed,
It's been long overdue.
I know I've already
Said this before,
But I will be soon.

I don't know if you'll ever read this,
And I don't know if I'll ever see
Or hear from you again.

I have a confession.
I don't know very much about trains. Actually, very little at all.
I know that they have a beginning and an end, and a whole lot of middle.
Kind of like life.
Trains can take you places,
From here to there
From old to new
From start to finish
But cars can do that. Planes can too.
So why do we take trains? They take so much longer.
Except, maybe that is the whole point; the real reason.
Time is never in abundance, and we are always rushing from one chore or job to the next with no time to take a break or rest or reflect or breathe.
Sitting on a train, with nowhere to go and no control over what time you arrive at your destination, you are forced to be calm.
To just sit, and perhaps even enjoy the moment.
In reality, this is what our goal in life should be: to take pleasure in the journey.

I have another confession.
I really want to ask you to take this train with me.
I want to enjoy this journey with you, ignoring the start and forgetting how soon or abrupt the ending could be.
I want to look at the scenery and talk about pretty things and drink yummy coffee and play footsie under the table.
For the first time in my life I want to be uncertain. I don't want to know when or where or how this will end.
I think there is a part of me that already knows where our next stop is, but I can't get the image of laughing with you out of my head.
Baby, let's just see where this thing takes us.
All I know is that you get my wheels turning and my heart racing.
All I know is our beginning and our end.

*But darling, won't you fill me in on that whole lot of middle?

I love your feet,
Except that pinky toe.
Him and I have issues.

Come, let me warm your feets after the cold sea.
Come, lets lie in bed - touching feets.
Come, let me hear you laugh - ticklin' those feets.
Come, let me steal your socks - i want to see those feets.
Come, let me massage your feets - after a long day.
Come, lets watch telly - playing footsie.

No matter what,
My feet will walk 1400km,
To get to you.
To help you.
To care for you.
To support you.
To love you.

It's a lonely ol' night
I feel so tired but I can't sleep
all I can do is just think
how sweet it would really be
to have somebody cuddlin' up next me
watching a movie, playing footsie
underneath the sheets
transpiring into some heated body language
with a whole lot of touching
kissin' and huggin'
making love all night til the sun comes up
then we just both  fall asleep in each others arms
oh yeah...all I can do is just think
It's a lonely ol' night

Beauty is no disguise

Seen with our eyes
Felt with our heart

True beauty is art
There are no words to break it apart

It holds you tight from the start
Letting go only when you let it so

Know my heart grows
Every time we touch our nose
When we play footsie with our toes
And when I give you a tea rose

Even in the lows
Know I'm here to compose
A way to your heart
To make you glow

Like I did from the start

She stood where she’d always stood. Bare feet pressed firmly into that which was familiar; solid ground and mundane days. The rolling hills of green, dripping of constant certainty, nearly surrounded her. Yet before her, and so many others, was the vast open space of The Unknown that promised the opposite of that reality. No one she knew dared approach the The Unknown as there was never any need or desire. Her world was an unfailing provider of worldly things and acceptance. The surrender to conformity never felt too high a price to pay.

But, her contentment had grown old despite her youth. She often dug her toes into that solid ground beneath her feet. For she had learned that with enough pressure, it wasn’t so solid after all. The earth crumbled into soft dirt and she took pleasure in the feeling of disrupting it’s rigid state. When The Wind from The Unknown surreptitiously swept over the land, others raised a brow in disdain when she breathed in it’s essence, as if she were trying to decipher that which drove it. Her eyes often gazed in the direction The Wind came from, regardless of the shame that slowly began to grow inside her from her need to move on.

Day after day, week after week, something began to manifest itself in her. A seed implanted by The Wind of The Unknown. Or perhaps it was always there, covert in it’s infancy, until it had gained enough confidence to grow and surface. She felt herself drawn to step past the dirt she’d grown fond of playing footsie with and move cautiously towards the direction of The Unknown. Each step she took brought fear and uncertainty, but that was curbed by the the constant reminder of The Wind’s confidence in her. As she travelled, The Wind silently retreated to watch her grow on her own. Unfamiliar feelings arose that she had never experienced before which only led to even more new desires. She tried to process her emotions, but she was already moving forward at a steady pace.

Those that knew her, stared as she moved on. Their faces displaying confusion and judgment, as her small frame quietly disappeared against the horizon that radiated a haunting yet mysteriously inviting glow over The Unknown. How she longed to express to them the urgency she felt to depart their world. To share with someone this journey that had turned from sheer curiosity to the need to fulfill something in her that even she could neither comprehend nor fully understand.

Suddenly, her feet came to an abrupt stop as The Wind silently reappeared. It’s presence was familiar and yet unyielding. Looking down at her feet, she slowly became aware that she was no longer standing on any remnants of where she came from. She was standing on the edge of The Unknown. A jagged rock cliff that was both beautiful and terrifying overlooking a dark, vast body of water that appeared to stretch farther then the eye could see. She quickly realized why the air she inhaled met her with familiarity. It was the very entity that secretly breathed life into her spirit and beckoned her to depart from all that she had known before. With this realization came another. Her journey thus far had slowly fostered a self awareness that, like the jagged cliff she stood on, was terrifying and beautiful. She was aware of every single nerve in her body. Every desire she longed for was now completely known, understood and wanted more than ever.

She looked out at the dark, yet unexplainably welcoming water of The Unknown. That ever familiar Wind, playfully swirling around her body, tempted and coaxed her as she stood unsteady at the edge. It moved through her hair and against her skin like fingertips, gently comforting her. She basked in it’s attention and the memory of it’s unfailing guidance... until it warmly kissed her ear and whispered a single word; a command that forced a gasp from her lips. Her body began to tremble with fear as she attempted to process it’s request. The Wind felt her hesitation and picked up speed, reassuring her safety and softly explaining itself to her. “Wanting is not the same as Feeling”, it said. And so The Wind gently repeated: “Jump”.

So she jumped.

And the water enveloped her.

She felt.

She evolved.

She became one with The Wind.

And The Unknown became Known.

My body was trembling
When I felt him near
His feet
Playing footsie
With me
And my foot
Under the table
(As I ate a foot long
Sandwish
And had onion breath)

He liked my  breath
I thought then
Because I felt his lips
Getting closer to me.
I felt it
and my breath stopped
My whole breathing stopped
Making my chest
pounding so hard.
It was my heart.

I turned my head sideways
Avoiding the inevitable.
He reached for a napking
He tried to touch my fingers
Grab my hand.
Yes grab my hand!
But no. He can't
So I took them away
I moved my foot away
And my hungry mouth away,
Away from him.

His body screamed at me.
His eyes asked why?
Hurt was shooting through his eyes.
Nothing new to me
Since I saw the same
in my mirror each day
When a thought of his lips
crossed my mind.
The mouth I want to be forever mine....

Does she know I love her?
pain-stricken lover
Every hardened letter
draws us in together.

I crave her beauty
and want her near me
She paints in circles;
I draw her clearly.

Soft passion blooms here,
friendship first it looms here.
Does she know her power?
Like a witch she towers
over me, gently,
She plants a seat right near me.

Lovingly, I
wish to vine my arms around her
Hip bones like the ocean I so desperately need.

Can it be: velveteen connection?
Can it be: that I see her, that she sees me?

Dear one,
how I wanted you
the moment that I saw you,
out there playing footsie with the flowers.

Remember that time we talked all night?
Remember that time you told me stories for hours on end?
Remember that time we walked together?
Remember that time we played footsie at McDonald's?
Remember that time we walked alone in the dark?
Remember that time we went hiking?
Remember that time you would catch me when I fell?
Remember that time you pretended to push me in the lake?
Remember that time I held you tight?
Remember that time outside the house?
Remember that time you held my hand so I didn't fall?
Remember that time you gave me mittens?
Remember that time you yelled at your friend for scaring me?
Remember that time you bought me dinner?
Remember that time we spoke?
Cause from the things you've been saying
I'm starting to think you don't
And maybe I shouldn't remember those times either