Wanting

I have found myself, again,
Of two bodies,
Two moments;
An utter double.

Existing at once:

I,
Aflame with desire,
Beckon
The burning incision of genius’s lip
And the slow flutter of yours
To give me new skin of impossible tenderness 

And,

I,

Stewing in murky juices,

Lay supine in my porcelain cooking pot,

Unstirred,

Untouched,

By either

A Series of Masks

Tripping quick cat steps through
A mirror maze
She is pulled in a vivid flurry
To mirror gaze
Fragments from the magician’s sleeve.

Slipping between character
And mask grotesque
Searching for a
Reflection that will hold true

Not send a dozen ripples
Of distortion through her mind
Like trembling bouts of stomach flu

For no surface shows her one woman.

She says “I am”
To the left:

Leaking

Slowly

A dream crawl
Into consciousness 
Tits and lips
Velvet, crimson swirl
Tooth pull precision
Smooth as a pearl
Thigh hold palace plush
With a finger to her lip

Hush

Pretty girl.

She says  “I am”
To the right:

And her face
is stamped like a seal
Sure as printed page
With a heart like a small ruby kernel
That will not whimper and dash
in fear, from exposure. 

The earth will turn itself
to old age
And this tree will find itself
Grown thick around the middle
But unmoved.
I shall be here. 

I shall be love.

A spine spiked with sense
And clean sheets
A constant. 

She turns and turns,
Each time certain of the opposite reflection.
A billion beams
Rebound
And crack 

I thought I was
I thought I was 

She screeches in pain
And bats her stiff palms
At the splinter,
The Janus wedge
Driven clear through. 

Fleeing from the maze,
She runs to the edge of the river.

I cannot cross
I will cross

And looks not upon her image,
But wades, waist deep, into the water,
Feeling nothing but the creamy happiness
Of a christened baby,

Cries in wonder
“Who is this?
What am I?”

I should like to stand by you at the edge of the sea,
Its endless stretch of roaring body,
In the reverent hush of black night.

I would like to watch the prinkle of nerves
As they stand to attention,

And listen for mermaids dragging seaweed behind
To and fro like the delicate baggage of broken hearts,

To know the thrill of bare skin on damp sand.
It moulds to the touch and leaves one wanting
Affection’s deeper glow.

I should like to tell you that this foaming expanse
Of beckoning tidal pull and
Emptiness that leads to a somethingness

Could be drawn from my heart with an extraction needle.

I should like to share with you the sight of the sea.
We would understand that-

                                    If not each other. 

From Me or From You

From whence does it spring,
The font of this feeling,
Fine as fountain water
In its warbling sheets,

From Me or From You?

My path, for this while,
Seems to keep pushing me,
A clay smooth slip,
Into you.

Could you not see
My open heart gladness
At finding you still balancing
On the earth crust?

And all my words burst like a basket of blooms-
unfold, lotus heavy, upon my tongue.

I’m breathing so easy.
I’m breathing you.

I believe in miracles.
I believe you may be one.

But, from whence did it come,
From me or from you?

Anonymous asked: You're beautiful

You’re kind!