Light melts across the gilded field
sunbeams through holes in a cloud
silently across your face, rays yield
shadows cast off their shroud

A dewy kiss warms morning thoughts
of a lover's raw embrace
desires twisted up in knots
yearnings will unlace

Lay me down on a clover sea
and a honeysuckle bed
gentle breezes wash over me
flowing like water instead

Wet lips entwined with hunger
gives way to beating hearts
our fingertips do linger
panting breaths depart

So lay with me on this bed of gold
blowing kisses in my ear
a golden field for my love to hold
darling, let's stay right here

LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 2

Jon picked up his receiver and gave Bian a call from his apartment.

“Bian?”, asked Jon.

“Yes,” replied Bian.

“This is Jon calling. Do you have a minute or two to talk?”

“Yes, I do,” said Bian.

“Well, first let me ask how you’re doing,” said Jon.

“I’m doing well, Jon,” said Bian.

“And school, how’s that going?” asked Jon.

“Well, I'm off to a busy start, but that’s not surprising,” said Bian.

“I’m calling to ask if you would like to go with me this Sunday afternoon and hear Mario Abdo Benitez, president of Paraguay, speak at the World Leaders Forum in Low Library, then afterwards have an early picnic meal in Riverside Park with me.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” said Bian.

“Great. I’ll meet you again in the Hartley Hall lobby around quarter of 2. Will that work for you?” asked Jon.

“Yes, Jon, that will work fine. Thanks for the double invitation,” said Bian.

“Oh, and by the way, I’ll have our picnic meal ready for us. We’ll have to pick it up at my apartment after the talk. I live on Riverside Drive between 114th and 115th Streets,” said Jon.

“I look forward to both,” said Bian.

“Have a good rest of the week,” said Jon. “See you Sunday.”


Jon got to the Hartley Hall lobby a bit early Sunday afternoon and sat down on a sofa to wait for Bian. On Saturday, Jon had composed his most recent poem and he had brought it and two others to read to Bian during their picnic. After a short wait, Bian entered the lobby.

“Bian, it's so nice to see you again,” said Jon.

“It’s so nice to see you, too,” said Bian.

“Well, are we ready to head out?” said Jon.

“I am,” said Bian.

“OK, let’s go,” said Jon.

The two headed toward Low Library, now no longer a library, but the main administrative center of the University. Further, the Rotunda was glorious. That’s where President Benitez would be speaking.  

The President began his speech with a concise history of Paraguay followed by his attempts to deal with the societal ills in his country, and then spoke at length about his belief, his wish, for all nations in both Central and South America to be united into one nation. Finally, he took a number of questions from members of the audience. The program lasted about an hour.

“I found President Benitez’s comments about the potential unification of all countries in Central and South America united provocative,” said Jon.

“The world is one. Why not start with all nations in Central and South America?” added Bian as she and Jon walked down the steps in front of Low Library.


“Another beautiful Fall day,” said Jon. “A beautiful day for a picnic.”

They headed down College walk, crossed Broadway, then turned left on Riverside Drive and walked toward Jon’s apartment building that was just beyond 115th Street.

“Come on up while I gather all the picnic items,” said Jon, so they took the elevator to the 5th floor, got out, and walked down the hallway to Apt. 515.

“Here’s where I live,” said Jon. Bian entered first.

“You have a beautiful view of the park and the Hudson River, Jon,” said Bian.

Jon put all picnic items from the refrigerator into a large bag and grabbed the large, folded blanket lying on the sofa in the living room, then said, “Now let’s go find a great spot to have a picnic,” said Jon.

The two crossed Riverside Drive and entered Riverside Park. After spending several minutes looking around, Bian said, “Over there. That looks like a nice spot.”

When they got to the spot, Jon put everything he had been carrying on the ground and unfolded the blanket and spread it out.

"This will be an old-fashioned Kansas picnic, Bian. I hope you like it,” said Jon.

Bian sat down on the blanket. Jon began emptying the bag.

“We have before us pieces of fried chicken, coleslaw, baked beans, cleaned strips of carrots and celery, and black olives. Here are the paper plates, utensils, napkins, and cups, along with a container of cool water. I brought water because I don’t drink alcohol.” said Jon. “Plus, I have a surprise dessert.”

Jon then sat down and gave Bian a plate, utensils, and a napkin. “Help yourself, Bian, and enjoy.” And so they did.

After both had eaten everything on their plates, Jon said, “And now for the surprise,”

He reached into the bottom of the bag for the plastic container and pulled it out.

“I have here two pieces of chocolate cake from the Hungarian Pastry Shop,” he said.

“Oh, the cake looks delicious!” said Bian.

Jon carefully put the pieces of cake on plates, then handed one to Bian.

“We had no Hungarian Pastry Shop in Kansas,” said Jon.

After eating their pieces of chocolate cake, Bian and Jon chatted for quite a while, mostly about their respective childhoods, which were, surprisingly enough, quite similar. Being loved by one’s parents, especially, was the most important experience that both shared.

“I’d like to share with you, Bian, several poems I’ve recently written,” said Jon.

“I’d like that very much,” said Bian.

“The first one I’ll recite is titled I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN.

I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN

I write when the river’s down,
when the ground’s as hard as
a banker’s disposition and as
cracked as an old woman’s face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write when
horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river’s down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.


The next poem is titled THERE WILL COME A TIME.

THERE WILL COME A TIME

There will come a time
when time doesn’t matter,
when all minutes and
millennia are but moments
when I look into your eyes.
There will come a time
when clinging things
will fall like desiccated
leaves, leaving us with
but one another. There
will come a time when
the external becomes eternal,
when holding you is to
embrace the universe.
There will come a time
when to be will no longer
be infinitive, but infinity,
and you and I are one.


The last poem I’ll share with you today is THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU.


THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU

There is a tender way to touch you,
not more than a brush across your cheek.
I seek a gentle kiss so not to miss your soft
and red-rose lips that meet mine, the glory
of your darkened hair that falls across my face
as I unlace your flowered blouse to place
my fingertips upon your silk-like skin to begin
to love the rest of you. I lay you down on soft,
blue sheets, your head upon pillows made of
wild willow leaves softer than robin’s feathers.
I bare your beauty slowly that glows like a candle’s
flame in a room that is at once dark and bright.
The light comes from your luminous eyes that smile
at me as I reveal the rest of you from waist to knees
to heels and toes. No one knows the tender touch
I bestow upon your gentle being that I alone am seeing.


“Thank you, Jon, for sharing these poems with me. They moved me. I hope you’ll share others with me,” said Bian.

It was time to call it an afternoon. Jon walked with Bian all the way back to Hartley Hall.

“Have a good week, Bian,” said Jon, then leaned forward and
kissed her lips lightly.

If you are Horatio, let me be Hamlet
Because I need you right by my side
If I must face what is to face

If you are Horatio, let me be Hamlet
Because if I face what is inside
I might need you to be my brace

If you are Horatio, let me be Hamlet
Because if I need someone to hide
All the ghosts I see, it’d be my ace

If you are Horatio, let me be Hamlet
Because if I get caught up in the tide
I’d need you to bring me down from space

If you are Horatio, let me be Hamlet
Because when my hands are seldom tied
I’d need you to come unlace

If you are Horatio, let me be Hamlet
Because if there is someone to be alongside
You’d be in just the right place

Because if you are Horatio,
let me be Hamlet

ARGUMENT.  Baile and Aillinn were lovers, but Aengus, the
Master of Love, wishing them to he happy in his own land
among the dead, told to each a story of the other's death, so
that their hearts were broken and they died.

I HARDLY hear the curlew cry,
1
About the time when Christ was born,
When the long wars for the White Horn
And the Brown Bull had not yet come,
Young Baile Honey Mouth, whom some
Called rather Baile Little-Land,
Rode out of Emain with a band
Of harpers and young men; and they
Imagined, as they struck the way
To many-pastured Muirthemne,
That all things fell out happily,
And there, for all that fools had said,
Baile and Aillinn would be wed.
They found an old man running there:
He had ragged long grass-coloured hair;
He had knees that stuck out of his hose;
He had puddle-water in his shoes;
He had half a cloak to keep him dry,
Although he had a squirrel's eye.
1
That runner said:  "I am from the south;
I run to Baile Honey-Mouth,
To tell him how the girl Aillinn
Rode from the country of her kin,
And old and young men rode with her:
For all that country had been astir
If anybody half as fair
Had chosen a husband anywhere
But where it could see her every day.
When they had ridden a little way
An old man caught the horse's head
With:  ""You must home again, and wed
With somebody in your own land.''
A young man cried and kissed her hand,
""O lady, wed with one of us'';
And when no face grew piteous
For any gentle thing she spake,
She fell and died of the heart-break.'
Because a lover's heart s worn out,
Being tumbled and blown about
By its own blind imagining,
And will believe that anything
That is bad enough to be true, is true,
Baile's heart was broken in two;
And he, being laid upon green boughs,
Was carried to the goodly house
Where the Hound of Uladh sat before
The brazen pillars of his door,
His face bowed low to weep the end
Of the harper's daughter and her friend
For athough years had passed away
He always wept them on that day,
For on that day they had been betrayed;
And now that Honey-Mouth is laid
Under a cairn of sleepy stone
Before his eyes, he has tears for none,
Although he is carrying stone, but two
For whom the cairn's but heaped anew.
1
Now had that old gaunt crafty one,
Gathering his cloak about him, mn
Where Aillinn rode with waiting-maids,
Who amid leafy lights and shades
Dreamed of the hands that would unlace
Their bodices in some dim place
When they had come to the matriage-bed,
And harpers, pacing with high head
As though their music were enough
To make the savage heart of love
Grow gentle without sorrowing,
Imagining and pondering
Heaven knows what calamity;
"Another's hurried off,' cried he,
"From heat and cold and wind and wave;
They have heaped the stones above his grave
In Muirthemne, and over it
In changeless Ogham letters writ --
Baile, that was of Rury's seed.
But the gods long ago decreed
No waiting-maid should ever spread
Baile and Aillinn's marriage-bed,
For they should clip and clip again
Where wild bees hive on the Great Plain.
Therefore it is but little news
That put this hurry in my shoes.'
Then seeing that he scarce had spoke
Before her love-worn heart had broke.
He ran and laughed until he came
To that high hill the herdsmen name
The Hill Seat of Laighen, because
Some god or king had made the laws
That held the land together there,
In old times among the clouds of the air.
That old man climbed; the day grew dim;
Two swans came flying up to him,
Linked by a gold chain each to each,
And with low murmuring laughing speech
Alighted on the windy grass.
They knew him:  his changed body was
Tall, proud and ruddy, and light wings
Were hovering over the harp-strings
That Edain, Midhir's wife, had wove
In the hid place, being crazed by love.
What shall I call them? fish that swim,
Scale rubbing scale where light is dim
By a broad water-lily leaf;
Or mice in the one wheaten sheaf
Forgotten at the threshing-place;
Or birds lost in the one clear space
Of morning light in a dim sky;
Or, it may be, the eyelids of one eye,
Or the door-pillars of one house,
Or two sweet blossoming apple-boughs
That have one shadow on the ground;
Or the two strings that made one sound
Where that wise harper's finger ran.
For this young girl and this young man
Have happiness without an end,
Because they have made so good a friend.
They know all wonders, for they pass
The towery gates of Gorias,
And Findrias and Falias,
And long-forgotten Murias,
Among the giant kings whose hoard,
Cauldron and spear and stone and sword,
Was robbed before earth gave the wheat;
Wandering from broken street to street
They come where some huge watcher is,
And tremble with their love and kiss.
They know undying things, for they
Wander where earth withers away,
Though nothing troubles the great streams
But light from the pale stars, and gleams
From the holy orchards, where there is none
But fruit that is of precious stone,
Or apples of the sun and moon.
What were our praise to them? They eat
Quiet's wild heart, like daily meat;
Who when night thickens are afloat
On dappled skins in a glass boat,
Far out under a windless sky;
While over them birds of Aengus fly,
And over the tiller and the prow,
And waving white wings to and fro
Awaken wanderings of light air
To stir their coverlet and their hair.
And poets found, old writers say,
A yew tree where his body lay;
But a wild apple hid the grass
With its sweet blossom where hers was,
And being in good heart, because
A better time had come again
After the deaths of many men,
And that long fighting at the ford,
They wrote on tablets of thin board,
Made of the apple and the yew,
All the love stories that they knew.
1

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
          Until I labour, I in labour lie.
     The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
  Is tired with standing though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering,
        But a far fairer world encompassing.
  Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
     Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
  Tells me from you, that now 'tis your bed time.
      Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
  That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
        Off with that wiry coronet and show
      The hairy diadem which on you doth grow;
  Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
   In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
   In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
   Received by men; thou angel bring'st with thee
    A heaven like Mahomet's paradise; and though
     Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
     By this these angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
      License my roving hands, and let them go
       Before, behind, between, above, below.
          O my America, my new found land,
  My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
       My mine of precious stones, my empery,
     How blessed am I in this discovering thee!
      To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
    Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
      Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee
    As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be,
   To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
   Are like Atlanta's *****, cast in men's views,
     That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
    His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
  Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
      For laymen, are all women thus arrayed;
     Themselves are mystic books, which only we
       Whom their imputed grace will dignify
     Must see revealed. Then since I may know,
        As liberally, as to a midwife, show
  Thyself: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
      Here is no penance, much less innocence.
     To teach thee, I am naked first, why then
  What needst thou have more covering than a man.

expecting the ride of a lifetime
hype guy with the pimped out kith jeans
and the shoes that cost god knows what
but he pulls me off of him so he can
carefully unlace them, while i get drier
than a desert waiting for him

like, ***?
show up in sweats and a hoodie so i can
steal it next time, man

“Unbind
Unclasp
Uncover
Uncurl
Unfurl
Undo
Unfasten
Unfold
Unhing­e
Unhook
Unleash
Unlink
Unmask
Unroll
Unveil
Unclip
Unlace
Unzip
­Untie
Unbutton
Unlock”

“Undress.”
“Understood.”

Unravel

Gonna throw away
The grin today.
Signs of agony
In the words I say.
Rid myself
Of joyous things,
Now a jester
After living like kings.

No use telling a lie
When you're about to cry.
Its only a matter of time,
Until you spill
The reason why.
Lost the trust,
So what's the use?
Unlace my shoes
And tie a noose.

Im not a straight shooter
But I've got a trigger finger.
The feeling of fear,
It loves to linger.
Nothing changes
If nothing changes,
Take control
When it rearranges.
Dont need
The ***** deeds,
Determining
Flowers from weeds.
Taking a walk
In a field of the land mine,
Your head isn't sleepy,
Dont lay it on the line.

Tell, if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come
This camphire, storax, spikenard, galbanum,
These musks, these ambers, and those other smells
Sweet as the Vestry of the Oracles.
I’ll tell thee:—while my Julia did unlace
Her silken bodice but a breathing space,
The passive air such odour then assumed
As when to Jove great Juno goes perfumed,
Whose pure immortal body doth transmit
A scent that fills both heaven and earth with it.

Unlace your shoes and step to the side;
I'll do the same.
Borrow my worn out soles and
Stretch them over your aching feet;
It's okay if they don't quite fit.
Make my body yours,
My toes, my long legs,
My stomach, my *******
My collarbones, my hair
But most importantly,
Take my eyes.
Take the eyes that have filled with fascination
Whenever you step into view.
Take the eyes that have soaked up your personality,
Grasped it with bare hands and never let it go.
Take the eyes that squint every time you humor me and
Never seem to shed tears.
Take the eyes that have noticed your every flaw,
Seen you almost every day for the past ten and a half months,
And still look at you
With fascination.
Stare into those beautiful brown marbles,
Pay attention to those tiny specks of green...
But, don't forget to look through them.
Because if eyes really are the windows to our souls,
You must be the most beautiful person on the planet.
And if we really could trade shoes for even just a moment,
Maybe you'd realize it, too.

There is a tender way to touch you,
not more than a brush across your cheek.
I seek a gentle kiss so not to miss your soft
and red-rose lips that meet mine, the glory
of your golden hair that falls upon my face
as I unlace your flowered blouse to place
my fingertips upon your silk-like skin to begin
to love the rest of you. I lay you down on soft,
blue sheets, your head upon pillows made of
wild willow leaves softer than robin's feathers.
I bare you beauty slowly that glows like a candle's
flame in a room that is at once so dark and bright.
The light comes from your luminous eyes that smile
at me as I reveal the rest of you from waist to knees
to heels and toes. No one knows the tender touch
I bestow upon your gentle being that I alone am seeing.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

my hips
skim petaline
love every flit lit
in the direction
of my reflect

I see the ones
who don't see anyone.
Their skin is as fragile as the pages in an old book
and they look at me with eyes that have read it all,
seen it all
and are still scared.
I know their loved ones;
the worried fingers
that lace and unlace
as they stare a hole in the space between their shoes,
unused to the barriers,
fighting every instinct just to keep dear ones safe.
When I grace their bedside,
adjust the pillows behind their heads, I think;
every touch is their touch -
the ones that can't be close -
reaching through closed doors.
Every look is their look.
Every word of comfort are words those loved ones would say.
I hope they know,
and I pray they are
no longer alone.

LOVE AND LOVERS

by  

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 22


"Except for you, Bian, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen was Ingrid Bergman in my most favorite movie, CASABLANCA. It's about 20 minutes into the film when you first see her as she enters Rick's Cafe Americain with her freedom-fighting husband. As I recall, she was in real life in her early 20's. She, like you, is ethereally beautiful, absolutely stunning. I was mesmerized, just as I was mesmerized when I entered Tom's that fateful morning and saw you sitting alone in a booth.

"In the movie, Bogart meets Bergman in Paris just days before the German army enters the city. It is a lovely flashback when the two meet and fall in love. But for reasons not disclosed until the end of the movie, Bogart and Bergman do not get married as they had hoped to do. Bogart finds his way to Casablanca, thinking all the while that Bergman had jilted him.

"The movie was made in the early 40's. Virtually every scene is iconic. Bogart, embittered, is externally tough, but deep within, he is compassionate. There is an incredible scene in which a young wife from Bulgaria married for only eight weeks speaks with Bogart about the plight of herself and her husband seeking letters of transit to get to America via Lisbon. Bogart arranges for her husband to win at the roulette wheel, a scene at once tender and powerful.

"At the end of the movie, Bogart evinces fully his real self and forfeits his future life of love with Bergman by giving his letters of transit to Bergman's heroic husband, who, by now, we find out Bergman had been married to for a number of years.

"In the movie, Bogart personifies qualities that I would call love, and by so doing, epitomizes our common goal of this, our journey around the world to bring PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE.

"Further, Newton Minow, former chair of the Federal Communications Commission, said in a speech in 1961 that TV was a "vast wasteland." Of course, he was right.

"By contrast, Ken Burns, has made 30 documentaries to date. He has, in my opinion, put Hollywood to shame. As I had majored in American history, I was eager to watch Burns's first documentary, THE CIVIL WAR. It was brilliant. Then he made 29 more. Everyone one of them has been extraordinary. Burns deserves to receive the Medal of Honor.

"I have written a love poem about you. I'd like to share it with you now."


THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU

There is a tender way to touch you,
not more than a brush across your cheek.
I seek a gentle kiss so not to miss your soft
and red-rose lips that meet mine, the glory
of your darkened hair that falls upon my face
as I unlace your flowered blouse to place
my fingertips upon your silk-like skin to begin
to love the rest of you. I lay you down on soft,
blue sheets, your head upon pillows made of
wild willow leaves softer than robin's feathers.
I bare you beauty slowly that glows like a candle's
flame in a room that is at once so dark and bright.
The light comes from your luminous eyes that smile
at me as I reveal the rest of you from waist to knees
to heels and toes. No one knows the tender touch
I bestow upon your gentle being that I alone am seeing.

I would say my bed is the only place
I feel at home anymore but
You are still haunting my dreams
I want to unlace you from my brain,
and rip every stitched piece of you out of
my heart
until red reflects everything,
Like neon street lights,
I want to ask you in the sweetest song
your ears have ever heard
"What does it feel like to be in love"
But my hands shake at the thought
of you not saying
"It's hand crafting every star in the sky to bring out your smile"

At last the autumn
wind has stripped
the branches bare.
Even insubordinate
trees now stretch

their naked limbs
along a leaf of sky;

timber ledger lines
compose a staff
where birds rest
as quarter notes,
the nested chimes
of winter’s song.

You and I unlace
our leather boots.

We wait for snow,
white and absolute,
to change the score,
to blanket measured
roots, a silent chorus.

Come to bed, darling, for sure the hour is late.
Most certainly, your conference call can wait.
The children are asleep and I’m abed,
So work must wait, come play with me instead.
Don’t waste these hours with fitful sleep tonight
when you and I could fill them with delight.
Unlace that camisole and let it drop,
A goodly start. I didn’t say to stop!
Then, turning towards me with an impish smile
Lose the slacks and add them to the pile.
Then, taking sight of my most firm intention
Remove your hose, the devil’s own invention.
When we are wearing just our birthday suits
Arch your back like a feline in pursuit.
Keep the heels, they’re red and bold I swear
They spur me to enjoy my favorite pair.
Those orbs of night won’t ignored my dear
As we effect conjunction of the spheres
We stifle cries as we make our cradle rock.
We'll tell the kids it was an aftershock.
Some nights are cold but this one needn’t be,
If you fall asleep held safe and warm by me.

Careful as you unlace
The delicate ribbons of leather
Separating my skin from your lips
'Lincoln Park After Dark' is the shade
Of dark that fills your hungry mouth
The lips I know and love
Feel even better on the most hidden part of my body
Take your time
With each lick
And keep your hunger for me
Until I kiss you good night

a certain accumulation of
desires that have simply overcome
my small (ever ever small)
being...
but i can't help but imagine
your defined body next to mine
mine lying next to your heart beat beat beat
hah hah hah hearts long lost
Could i sit here forever,
just to here that heart beat.
your heart beat.
desires have simply overcome.
Me.
and oh only christ can defend me,
how, how i desire for your lips on mine
your eye lash flutter
your distant thoughts bustle
your intelligence creeping
behind our curtains
don't act so repulsed
by my face in my moonlight,
if you had wished for a pristine certificate
you shouldv'e asked for an official v card
because you can unlace my blouse
if it's cold enough to display a
modern art form
and succumb to the scent of cashmere silk
against lavender dawns
outside our big class window
so i'll bite my tounge
because my desire for you is
stronger than a flame in the trail
the pressure to a point
the hello in a goodbye
lets pray for some good will
because i could get some duty done before God with you
oh, no no I'm not the desperate type.
just the type to take your suspenders off.

that phrase carries such a punch
wow
wow could mean this
"i cant believe you could"
or it could mean that
"you would ask me"
it COULD mean the other
"how could you?"

but christ
thats not a swear right
christ?

im not going to win this fight
i didnt even have on head gear

****, ill be bloodied
and you wont even be bruised

would you help me
unlace both my gloves?

you can do that right
if i taught you how to tie it
you can take it the reverse way

another three minutes
lost
to the rattling of the branches
to the shuttering of leaves
to the crash that they make
the BOOM
on the floor
we can hear those

im a fan though
of the noise
that will always win
as long as you
are there to record it
peripheral mic catching
every partial sneeze

jeebus
we are going to slap hands
no matter what happens
swoop
or sail

bye i guess

I looked off in the distance, a horizon of mountains strung together, the whole range atop an alpine lake.

I looked out only to be fixated on your tanned skin wadding off in the water, the same skin that I’d watched darken in the summers sun, the same skin I became so familiar with under the covers of blankets and snow. Layered but much paler than your tone now, it always was winter months that inspired warmer thoughts.

But there you are, you’re no longer the warm thoughts I pined to grasp.
You’re here in view and more than I could’ve ever imagined, watching you unlace your boots and rip your socks off in rolled clumps as you marched through the overly saturated banks still recovering from the past, the thawing warmth of spring at the end of a snow season, just like you.
Taking high steps, you feel the mud tugging at your heels, attempts to hang on, to cling instead of breaking clean free only to be washed away with another plummeting progressive step. Each part of you beginning to drown a little more in the experience.

There is something big behind you
And you don’t know what it is
But you know you have to run
That you've always been running
The thing behind you
Is always bigger than you
But you've always taken it down
And down
And down
In the past, you’ll do it again
and again
and again
Because you have to
Because it’s your responsibility
Though you don’t remember accepting it
Because who else would be there
If you weren't?
And all you want
Is to unlace your boots
To lay down your guns
To let someone else take up the hunt
But the thing behind you
Is only behind you
And it’s always
Always
Bigger than you.

they knew all along

how i would smile knowingly

and tangle my thoughts with obvious memories,

visualizing our fingers laced together.

they knew

how i would close my eyes and picture you next to me

masking me from everything and everyone evil.

it's odd,

they knew everything

yet they ripped you away from me

too fast for me to unlace my fingers from yours.

Monday.

I find myself waking up.
With the intent.
Of it just being another day.
But once I go out.
My eyes fall upon you.
& for the first time.
In four long years.
Your eyes fall upon me.
In a way that freezes me.
Where I can barely stand.
In a way that consoles me.
Where I can hardly breathe.
In a way that moves me.
Right to where you are.
& where you are.
Is a place.
Where I find myself.
Always wanting to be.
Because the way you walk.
I will always follow.
Because the way you talk.
Will always be heard.
Because the fragrance you spray.
Will always be appealing.
& appealing to me you are.
& always have been.



Tuesday.

I find myself waking up.
Replaying a dream.
Over & over.
In my head.
A simple dream.
Where the sun is shining.
The birds are chirping.
The flowers are blooming.
& my love for you is showing.
But I'm afraid to speak it.
I'm afraid to have it heard.
By those beautiful ears of yours.
Because its my secret.
One I find so dear.
One I hold so close.
To my heart that beats for you.
Wishing one day.
It could beat for us.
But I say it anyway.
Because all I keep thinking.
Is what's life without love?
What's love without you?
& the answer I receive.
Is one I cannot accept.
Because my life is you.
& I love every bit of my life.
Dream or no dream.



Wednesday.

I find myself waking up.
To meet you at a coffee shop.
You're heavy on the sugar.
But there doesn't seem to be.
Anything sweet about your life.
Or better yet said.
You don't see anything sweet.
About your own life.
Because you're cautious with your speech.
You're picky with your people.
You're harmful to your heart.
& you're partial with me.
I would like to save you.
From the very essence.
That is you.
Because the you that I see.
Is who I believe.
You're meant to be.
So you can tell me you hate me.
You can push me away.
Just as long as you know.
That my love for you.
Is here to stay.



Thursday.

I find myself waking up.
With you right next to me.
Half clothed.
Lips half parted.
With your curly dark hair.
I can't bring myself to wake you.
Cause that just means.
The moments at its end.
& from the moment you kissed me.
Which made me lead you to this bed.
Where I shared heavy breaths with you.
Where you shared nail marks with me.
Where we shared our humanity.
I can't bring myself.
To have this end.
Because I didn't ask you to leave.
I didn't not hold you close.
I just watched you sleep.
Until the curtains on my eyes.
Finally decided to close.
Where I dreamt a dream.
Of us being together.
Even after the curtains of our life.
Decided to close.



Friday.

I find myself waking up.
With the impression of your body.
On the right side of the bed.
Where you should be.
Your scent.
Is something you left behind.
But as for a note.
A simple goodbye.
That seems to be missing.
Following you.
Right through the door.
& for someone like me.
Who is accustomed.
To being the one missing.
To being the one to not say goodbye.
To being the one whose text replies are short.
It kills me to receive.
Each one you send back.
Because I'm not a stranger.
I'm not suffocating you.
& I am the same.
As I was on Monday.
So tell me why.
You create distance.
Tell me why.
You define enough.
By looking into ***.
& multiplying your past.
To produce an answer.
That I am not even a part of.
But in your eyes I have to be.
Because how could I.
Just love you for you.
When no one else could.



Saturday.

I find myself waking up.
To find myself growing up.
To find myself being enough.
Enough to be toe to toe.
Ear to ear.
Eye to eye.
Face to face.
With you.
Telling you everything.
That I have been wanting to say.
Needing to say.
For four long years.
& I know.
You may not believe me.
You may still walk away.
But here & now.
I'm leaving it all in the air.
Giving it all on this floor.
So when you do choose.
I know I said everything I could.
I know I told you everything I felt.
I know there was nothing else.
That I could do.
Or could have said.
So here I am.
Fighting for you.
Not just because I love you.
But because I need you.
Because you are my savior.
When no one else could be.
My entire life.
I've never felt that feeling.
That I felt with you after ***.
When a man is the most honest.
Those fifteen to twenty seconds.
When everything is done.
You are the only one.
That I wanted to stay.
That I needed to hold.
That I felt for.
Felt for way more than just physical.
Felt for way more than just emotional.
I just felt love.
The purist form.
What God intended.
That it should be.
& not what everyone else.
Says love should be.
I can't promise you.
That I won't upset you.
That I won't make you mad.
But I can promise you.
That I will love you everyday.
No matter if you are sick.
Or annoyed.
Without makeup on.
& everyday I will fight for you.
Being your knight in shining armor.
Saving you.
From strangers.
From friends.
From family.
& mostly yourself.
So that you can be.
The princess you're supposed to be.



Sunday.

I find myself waking up.
To an empty bed.
To no texts.
& no calls.
So I find some clothes.
Lace my shoes.
With the intent.
Of it just being another day.
Because in all it is.
I said what I said.
I did all I could.
I am in love with a girl.
Who doesn't love herself enough.
To believe anyone else can.
I walk the streets.
Going to all the places.
That I think she might be.
But I only find my thoughts.
& they accompany me.
Through the rest of the day.
Until I unlace my shoes.
& get rid of my clothes.
Do I hear a knock at my door.
You stand in sweats.
& your hair is a mess.
You tell me you love me.
But that you aren't what I need.
You wish you could be.
Because you believe.
In someone like me.
You thank me for everything.
& go to turn to leave.
But I just can't let you leave.
Because this home.
Is big enough.
For the both of us.
& my heart.
Is patient enough.
For your love to mature.
So don't say no.
Just say you'll try.
Because I can't go another morning.
Finding myself.
Waking up alone.

To His Mistress Going to Bed**

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew  
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
    Licence my roving hands, and let them go,  
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
    Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s *****, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we  
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
    To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.

I want nights with you.

I want to shut the door on the world, unlace my armor and take off my masks. I want to leave it all behind, one naked soul meeting another at an oasis of trust. I want your body moving in rhythm with mine. I want racing hearts and gasping breaths and sweaty sheets. I want to learn every inch, every curve, every corner of you. I want to feel you nestle your body into the curve of mine, lay your head on my shoulder, and pull my arm around your waist. I want your fingers to intertwine with mine as if they always belonged there. I want my thumb to trace idle circles on your skin as I lose consciousness, for no other reason than the joy of feeling your skin against mine, no other reason than it feels like the most natural thing in the world. I want to drift off to sleep with the smell of you in my head, the feel of your heart beating in time with mine, the warmth of you against me.

I want mornings with you.

I want tingles in my arm as another reminder of you using me as a pillow. I want sunlight peeping across your face, transforming your hair splayed across the pillow into a radiant halo. I want to see you lying next to me. I want to trace with my eyes every curve that I mapped with my body. I want to see the rise and fall of your breath, and feel each one whisper against my skin. I want to hide under covers, pretending the sun has not come and enjoying the shared heat of two bodies intertwined. I want frowzy hair, wide yawns, and tender sleepy smiles. I want sudden heat in my belly. I want to forget about bed head and morning breath and become so aware of you I can hardly breathe. I want to wake you up with tender kisses, and with scorching ones. I want to untangle myself from you (eventually), and rise to take on a new day and new challenges.

I want days with you.

I want challenge and adventure. I want to hike and climb and swim with you. I want to take on nature’s greatest obstacles together and come out on the other side as champions. I want coffee shop dates and deep talks about life. I want to get inside your head and understand what drives you and what scares you. I want to know where you’ve come from and where you’re going, your hopes and fears and dreams and nightmares. I want to laugh with you until I can’t breathe. I want other people to look at us like we’re crazy, and know that they’ll never understand all the fun we have. I want to sit on park benches and people-watch with you. I want you to curl into the crook of my arm and lay your head on my shoulder like it’s home. I want to point out the old man teaching a young passerby the finer points of chess. I want you to show me the children screaming and laughing as they flee from each other in an endless game of tag. I want to experience life side by side with you.

I want to close the circle. I want to go from night to morning to day, and start all over again.

I want you, and I can’t seem to get enough.

I spent all night attempting to take
Care of you even after you said
I was needy, I stayed awake
Sober while I put you to bed.

I covered you in blankets we shared
Wiped puke off of your face
I did not mind having to stay there
(Boots weren't that hard to unlace)

Helping makes me feel good
If I was the one passed out by two
I know without doubt you would
Take care of me the same way too

For him my heart races
Wearing nothing but laces
I wait for his embrace
It’s written all over my face
I want to go places
No airs and graces
I want it all in uppercase
‘Tis time to unlace...
​