We met in the Red Square at Midnight. Sitting on the austere steps of the Kremlin We drank Stolichnaya in silence; listened to St. Basil’s Bells stoic ringing until Our sun rose pale over Moscow  

Beauty is created when I press your mulatto skin to mine.
We shift. You move, and as you’re moved you move me.
Our motion akin to your mother’s in a gentle breeze or a dancer;
Some Elise pirouetting et fouetter and falling over graceful infinities.    

I am deliberate during this ballet. Subdominant.
Una corda e sostenuto, and as you request so do you respond; relaxed,
Sustaining single notes; soft into that ethereal Moonlight…
Blurred and blunted, your perfect meter dampened by my learned cadence.
    
As you sound off forte I rock slightly forward, coming into you harder.
We breathe sharp together; my fingertips caressing you legato;
My Ana Magdalena. Andantino; rolling into flurries of crescendos
presto allegro climaxing; Capitulating again before we rest…
Before lento diminuendo.                                                      ­                

We courted at the Konig Von Ungarn in Vienna. It was classical and   romantic. Baroque. We fell in love. At Figaro’s wedding we tasted sangria as the stars Set, pastel, over Seville. Our first kiss was the Holy Roman Empire fading; A footnote under bass cleft.

We were married in the Rhineland, a single Canon announcing our nuptial.
You a Riesling and I your lattice. I stood firm, resolute, as you grew in, around, and from me. But the lords, they taint you, they **** me of your fruits; oblivious, they invoke their subtle prima nocta.                            

From the rooftops and the gutters they hear you. A virtue is lost between us. We shift. They are unwelcome eavesdroppers’ playing ******.  
They come and gather round us and I grow nervous, stiff; sweat falling from my brow to your ebony and ivory.
They move provocative, but they do not care; they do not notice us.                            

I stop as they begin. They’re discourteous during this Can-can. Their  praise and kind words may arouse the pimps and ****** wandering Montmartre into Paris’s red-light,  “Hear,” they fall on deaf ears.
This is no Moulin Rouge. We are not meant to be exhibitionists and yet
we yield to their flat appeals.                                                         ­                           

I put my clothes back on, Rags is all they are, and you, you’ve become stark.
I project my discontent through your string and hammer heart;
I slap your toothy face and stomp your sterling feet without relent.
I-De-tach-My-self-From-You. Staccato. They call me Inventive and as they sip their whiskey, their bourbons and their Texas Tea they tell us that
we have Entertained.        

We build our home from the precious stones of foreign countries.
We traverse ages to reach the mines and the rock fields, finding rough Diamonds and sapphires. Naked, we wash them in ether; they luster.
The noblemen come. They smile and applaud as they peep through the Windows and knock at the doors, but We shall not  be moved.

Kiss me,
So I may drown in this amorous affair,
Savoring the delicious taste,
Of your lips against my own.

Hold me,
Your arms clasped around,
My petite body,
Skin touching skin,
Finding warmth in your blanket,
Of security and adoration,
Burrowing into the flowing fabric,
Of your embrace.

Never let me go,
I yearn to hear the inhales,
And exhales of your breath;
You glance at me,
Chuckling in delight,
As your thoughts turn,
To how enchanting you view me to be.

Caress me,
Allowing your firm hands to explore,
The slight curves,
Of a soft feminine exterior,
Yearning for the stroke,
Of your fingertips upon me.

Does love not knock upon the door,
Of your innermost chamber?!

Listen Please,
Silence your scattered thoughts,
Allowing you to hear,
The lulling seductive melody,
Depicting the presence of Eros,
In the heat of the night.

I shall pray you stay,
With fingers tightly interlacing,
For the fates bestow us,
With a blessing,
Perhaps a curse,
Receiving a bond to unite us.

An illicit connection,
In the eyes of others,
Yet I behold my desire,
For you as a dragonfly,
Mysterious and ancient,
A beautiful creature,
Existing almost as long,
As the sands of time,
Flying among the earth,
To be free.

Breathe me in,
Granting me the chance,
To enter your body,
Mind and soul,
Engrossing our spirits,
To complete the other,
Through gazing into,
The eyes of the other.

Cherish me,
As our lips encounter,
Passionately nibbling,
As they collide in portrayal,
Of our irrevocable love,
Tantalizingly sweet
As the Riesling rests,
Within my wine glass,
Tempting me to consume,
Pleasure through the delicious taste,
Awaiting for me.

Reminding me of the same reasons,
I crave you,
My beloved.

Jaw clenched tight, almost painfully.
Watching the door, I caught your glance.
Managed to drape a smile upon my face.
Those 20 steps you took to reach me.

That feeling in the deep pit of my stomach.
It never subsided. It will never calm.
The feeling of immense anticipation.
Jumping off a cliff. No parachute.

Taking your seat opposite me.
Nervous laughs, small talk.
Edamame and Riesling.
Tense muscles tore through my body.

You wore a braid consciously.
Almost spitefully. Almost dangerously.
Dumbfounded at your beauty,
I swung at your wine glass. It was mocking me.

The night progressed. I felt more at ease.
Heart pacing faster than a failed trapeze.
Finished up our meals, we entered the cold night.
Frigid air graced our cheeks.

Finding ourselves inside a local bar.
Curiously attracted to the curious brews.
Conversation became much more organic.
Flowing as efficient as the drafts.

Sneaking peeks at you in the mirror.
Wondering what thoughts reside inside you.
I couldn't have possibly left a great impression.
Nevertheless, you wore that Riesling with pride.

                                           -

A month melted. It cannot possibly be just that.
For years, I've had these butterflies trapped.
Just for you.

We met in a way
I am compelled to lie about,
simply for its lack of romance
but when I told you this,
you refused to recant
our original story.

I met you, unbridled, unassuming,
heart brimming with fear and eyes wide.
My hands shook as I offered you a drink.

Something in the room’s energy shifted when you entered,
a cosmic thing, I guess-
for a moment everything seemed to be meandering
instead of racing.

But now, all my body does is speed,
yearn to stretch itself beyond its bounds

Every now and again I feel compelled to take my pulse
out of fear of my heart’s reaction
to seeing you.

I don’t regret the frantic gasps
that lept from my chest as you touched me,
pulled me into your vortex,
no-

I won’t recant the breathlessness of my sudden, intimate confession
in the midst of our friend’s birthday-party

Sure, I was emboldened by the liquor,
but my decision was motivated
by far more than the headiness of wine-

Your eyes were the catalyst.
The way they peered at me with longing,
yet somehow expecting nothing,
just interested in what lay before them

And I remember
your sudden shift,
you propped yourself up on my chest and said it,
a declaration that stopped time once more -
or, at least, for me

So much blood rushed to my head that I feared you’d killed me
for a moment

I remember too, the brief seconds I spent
floundering in terror
before I made a statement of my own,
and tossed myself willingly into the potential killing-fields,
a sacrifice of sorts,
marred by recent pain, but still ascending.

let's leave the country without telling a soul,
let's get a house on the sand with a balcony facing the ocean waves,
let's live off of local fruits and tortillas

let's play a vinyl at night while we dance drunk around the fire,
with our record player and its huge bronze speaker coming out the top,
jumpy prison blues or old movie lines that play with a nostalgic static

let's build a blanket fort with a million sheets
watch our favorite old films off the wall in a psychedelic haze
let's binge on ice cream and oreos and let our inner fat child run free

let's have hot ******* shower ***
when we come down we pass out with the bottle of riesling between us
it almost empty, except for the small ring that neither of us could finish

let's wear nothing but robes and never have to leave our palace
let's get naked and roll around in paint, creating a heartfelt masterpiece
let's wake up to an amazing cup of coffee that gets better and better
just like our ***

let's never let anyone know about our little escape from the world and our grown-up fairytails come true.

HUNGER

When I think of you
I marvel at your fragility,
How little you sustain yourself with.
If I could do what I would, I would,
I would bring you coq au vin with carrots glazed in brown sugar,
And onions glaces a brun, ringed with pommes duchesse;
And saffron pistachio rissotto with lobster ravioli
Bathed in a tomato champagne reduction sauce;
Or salmon poached in Alsatian Riesling,
Smothered in a rich Hollandaise, on a queen-sized bed of spinach.
I'd fatten you up,
Feed your body;
But of course it isn’t proteins, calories, fats, carbohydrates
That you quest for:
That would be so easy.

Riesling and cat. This is Christmas for me. This wine used to tickle me, it is sour,
like the grapes were young, like I was young when I drank it and praised it.  There are always tears around this hour. This time of evening is the time when enough of the day has passed without me doing anything to feel bad about it, and there is enough time left to be unsure. Will I be lonely again tonight? Will I spin in the kitchen, feet slipping on spices spilled (the remnants of some sort of communion)
will I outstretch my hands and let my knuckles crack against the sacred objects-a fridge, countertop, stove,
will I drink all the wine in the cupboard? To that I say yes -my mother would weep at the thought.
Mother, just so you know, I always drink the wine in the cupboard if it is there. But not in a sad way, in the way that (simply put by a heart that I burn for): in a way that makes the gravel against my eyes easier to bare. It is not sad. I repeat. Do not cry mother.
Tonight I will sit in the spot hollowed out for my lonely body, a place con caved especially for my spine-rigid and warm with aching. I will allow the furred creatures to slither across my lap, curl around my neck like vibrating scarves. They have ladylike evil in their eyes, they extend fingers and pronounce their claws and let tongues creep between them and I do the same in my own human way. And without anyone watching we will be beautiful all by ourselves.

Will I write you a poem, one who has blackened before my eyes? Yes, and this is it.
Christmas for me, crackles with time retrieved and run over the reel again, it is stiff with wear and sweat and tears that squeeze from those traditional embraces, dried out, worn out like a dish rag, draped  
over the faucet and forgotten.
When you finally come home, I want to pull on the shoes and slip the coat that has become like a second skin over my back and leave the door wide and gaping open like the mouth of an old man dreaming of new pleasure. I will run then.
And you will watch my small body retreat from this, light pillowing before me giving you the illusion that i have no dimension:only darkness within me you will see, from your place by the doorway.

Summer days, so hot and sticky
I can't wait for you to come
and us to steal away together
into the midday sun.
Sitting at a café just passing the time.
Watching the people pass by in the heat
I play with the silverware,
waiting for you.
And so I sit until I see your dark,
handsome face breaks free from the crowd.
As I wait with a glass of Riesling
and phone in my hands.
You've made me wait,
and your eyes like sea green glass
tell me that a storm is brewing
just beyond my reach.
I have been waiting for it seems like
an eternity in the same café for you, always for you.
Could I have been so wrong
to love a man beyond my reach?
And with just a kiss on the cheek, you are gone.

A riesling fog
Rolls back like fingers
From the base of the Alleghenies

And I
In watching still
Call forth no words to move as it