Purple


Where did you learn

Your need to pull 

Away?

Burying truth behind

A visage of clay

And where did you start

Believing distance was safe?

Or ice over warm, each time you’d take?

I wished I met you

Before

You learned in reverse

Drove with eyes closed

Radio tuned to conflict and silence

If I had the power

I’d rewind you

Like a China doll

Breakable and yet

How hard your ceramic stare

You penetrate any pretense

Even as you hold your own secrets

Tighter than a rubber band

Turning pinky swear

Purple

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Remember

As you age invisibly within your glass

sometimes you forget that time, so long past

when desire welled in your heart and between your loins

like fast, sound breaking barrier

it seems like another person inhabited those limbs

another life captured the longing

to pull them close and within, before flame grew dim

sometimes it is good to be mindful, remember then

the girl you were, bracing for rejection

spending your longing on the long gamble

sometimes, you’d catch a ride on the upside

in that golden arc of wheel, when fortune seemed

impossible to smother

lovers would become eternal

a kiss would reveal the language behind your skin

all the cries you stored inside, chiming for their flight

stroked like an instrument, you gained wings

fingers playing you deep, as river bed will

sift and edy before

releasing her secrets

sometimes, as you turn your fingers in imagination

against the cast of shadow, splayed on plaster

and build within your mind, the press and assault of love

coursing in your veins, as you lie beneath the world

sometimes, as you conjur that first unspoken swallow

of all salinated emotion and the convulsion to follow

inhabiting one another, like thirsty fish struck from sea

will gather close and preserve their need

sometimes, when I think of your fingers stroking my ink

the weight of you, capturing all I am capable of bringing

our motion resonating against mirrors of time

and in the gathering dusk, a mutual cry

folding over sleep, like pressing lips will open

just enough for feeling

then, as I recall the need for you

it is an empty and lovely feeling, of past and new

to walk through time, held aside in wash

O for love and her nourishment

just once, again, your touch, where I have grown parched

asuage the feeling, no-one has climbed inside me, to make their homage

an electricity of joining, cast far into dark waters, dark hearts

Iluminary, please light the way once more

that I can lie salt-blessed, on reversing shore

feeling your claim again, as a flung open door

with warp of sea breeze, denying closure evermore

Ruffled sleeves

couv70586873You age up, your desires age down

you’d be too old for me now

but then when I was barely grown

you looked so good in your thirty-ish suit

the jaw line of age beginning to show

just enough to create a stirring, I wonder …

something deeply sensual in a confident woman

who has lived enough to feel

comfortable in her own brand of skin

I longed to touch the lapel of your shirt

or where your cuffs peaked out ruffled

little moments

your perfume lingering

the sound of heals on carpet

fading as you were accompanied

by a tall man to lunch

how could a girl just out of her teens compete?

I considered the movements of love

like Tai Chi, a gentle push

if you can sweep past obvious attributes

aren’t they also found in the twilight?

when you let me light your cigarette

and notice how close

I stand

our heat merging

the touch without touch, of energy

he may have spent a lot on lavish outings

but sharing wine from a plastic glass

on a warm night in the park

I touched where your heart beat

querulous against your tanned wrist

pressed to my lips

you sighed

more than you ever had

when he with his obvious methods

tried to beckon you near

sometimes birds flock in one motion

drawing out light of day

as I close the blinds and walk

a perfect line of longing

to the bed and

your nude warmth

waiting

Three prongs

pluto_and_persephoneSHE

hasn’t shared a bed with a man

two decades

nor smelt the tenor of his hands weighing

on her sleep

place telescope by the moon

stare at what you do not find familiar

all those girls who wake

next to, wrapped in, rubbed up against

the arms of another species it seems

no reflection of themselves

she has only seen

her own reflection

in the curl of her neck to her shoulder

honeyed wisp of them as they cover

rounded buttocks on the way to dimpled shower

girls instinctively know

what to hide and what to reveal

as cats will roll on their belly in trust

giving just enough

holding a claw in the air just incase

she unclenched herself to the water spirit

when the river found its surge she fell

tumbling below surface

where hands that are both small and strong

loins of silver, mouths of tangerine

kiss her delirious

do you think as you draw your pastiche

of a woman with a phallus mounting a girl wearing cherries on her cheeks

do you contemplate wife-beaters and bound breasts

considering the ugliness of plastic stand-ins

and Kerry who came from Nova Scotia said

I’d be gay if I didn’t have to perform oral sex

that disgusts me

but imagine, I could have some rest

my boyfriend he is hard as driftwood

every morning at six

her legs closed to dynamite

squeezing residue of clichés between her thighs

they who are not us, live in an underwater world

you only know when you hold your breath and let go

At ten it was not apparent

though if you consider how much you enjoyed

lying on ladies fur coats and

smelling their perfume

what isn’t known glitters in the gloom

they said poor child, poor motherless urchin

and in their arms you felt

that longing to place a moonstone in a set of gold

translated later the shape and curve

men were all angles and hard

softness is the drift of sand

lapsing back into water

you tried being like everyone else

nobody really wants to wear a red mark

telling them apart

but the hot skin of men as they lay

clumsy and ill-fitting in your hollows

always reminded you of a plug

with two prongs when

three were needed

To the bottom

marie-lise-diagonala

Go down

very far down

to the bottom of the sea

I shuck you off

zip up my boots

think of corn husks and masa and chili staining madder root

lips tarnished from pleasuring you

friend without the benefit of youth

I make you come even when you’re done

leash between us yoked at the throat

pain has long learned not to show

as macular degeneration steals acuity

we are what we want to see

but you are a poor vintage

you don’t convince the blind

we who cover ourselves in your outpouring

know more of you than crows

lining hot wire

know of the sky

Quenching

SHRIMP CROSS BACKHer shape

puts me at peace

lying propped up, one elbow jutting

one foot lolling out of damp sheets

curled in a knot of former movement

the wind outside is hitting moss covered shingles

like it wants to join in

clouds swirl like drunken sailors over-head

she has a strange gait

as if unsure of being girl or boy

yet her legs are as straight as a dancers

envious I suspect of my curves

the tattoo that begs to be planed

for every vein and every vessel

we are ever waiting to reach deeper

the fusion of two lovers

one defying gravity with breasts like pinches

mocking those half her age who struggle to stay

retroussé

the other a drunk without bottle

swimming in fear and loathing

tempered sometimes by her steady hand

pulling me to discomfort

where pier lights wink til past the witching hour

relieved nobody burning needs

quenching

 

Consume my hope

If we leave the letter unwritten 
saying nothing

deer leaning in the window salvaging for morsel of night 
grimacing when we stir, wind chimes with pointed feet 
dancing awkwardly in ill-fitting clothes, vindicating a 
suspicion of absurdity

turn from me then, until you stop being and I sit alone
watching faceless walls communing with plaster
you shape my days and can as easily, burn me standing
waiting for a word, a finger-tip, a smudge 

for when you strike, you are a panther, encased in skin
charboiling my heart over wilting blossom 
it is not possible to deny you
the switch of myself shivering electric 
in that, we are alike, the one who loses her hair in bunches and you
who cook longing on high flame 

hang yourself up on the back of my hook, let me catch you wriggling 
in my wet fingers made into a cup
like rounding moons with promise will become fairy circles 

when you emerge, dry-eyed and hot-skinned, let me lick the burn 
ringing your throat like the words you will 
strike out again and again in every ink
catching river stones in your mouth 
under my tongue
stretch out, beckon me, consume my hope