Ruffled sleeves

You 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

SHE

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

Of horror & humor

I lied and the lie was more honest than the truth

I’m not bitter I said

and it rolled off my tongue like peppermint lip gloss

I’m not bitter about anything

my nails digging deep into my palm do not

give me away

my grotesque sham

remember that ardent denials are always the ones

keeping disgraced secrets in over-size boxes

those who protest the loudest

usually guilt-ridden

I was guilty of detesting myself

and wearing too much make-up to show my artifice

I was guilty of saying I felt nothing

when it crawled up my neck like a necklace of shame

branding me queen of fibs

you see, it’s easier to be a boy

you can talk dirty, masturbate on trains, act like an asshole

and forgiveness will find you Joel

but a girl is supposed to be on a higher plain

we’re not expected to be so filthy minded or prone

to indolence

one mistake and you’re out

easier to call a girl a slut

than a boy the equivalent

what is the equivalent?

I regretted the day I chose you over the others

we unfolded our crosses and plugged ourselves in

you gauged me most likely to say yes to sin

enshrining stereotypes with the spit of scorned teens

I’m not bitter I said

if you choose her over me I understand

she’s got nice tits and a pretty strong right-hand

tormenting slanted Hannya masks coo

making faces, eating my scabs as they formed their tasty crust

give up your delusion Juno

as a girl your time of freedom is half as much

so bitter I spent so long on my knees sucking you off

again childish hope it would sate spilt outcome

pouring out of black taxis in crotchless hose

did I hesitate when I heard the echo of the earthbound train?

shaking myself free of girdles and suppositories

did the short-lived titilator

licking his plumaged groin

leave cleaner finger prints?

grinding into each other

purgered halves

reckless in gyration

rejoice

I’m not bitter I said

I just want to kick in your fucking head

lay on top the carnage, a maraschino cherry

well masticated and raw

a girl’s muscular jaw

opening to grudgingly reveal

her true Noh expression

of horror and humor

 

Unrequited love longs

I didn’t know you felt that way

just as the golden-haired girl

with bleached French roots

didn’t know I felt for her

(or worse, knew, and felt

less than dismissal)

we are ebony dominoes

pass the plain papered parcel

our affections whittled and sharpen

by the smoky knowledge we can never

confess ourselves or pardon

to objects of secreted passion

so remote and out of touch

the girl who falls for

a woman who loves men

the heterosexual who has a crush

on a flamboyant boy

things get broken without throwing

why is emotion so deluded?

I will never tell her my secret

just as you will not reveal yours

in our actions and what we do not say

there is the truth

explaining the easy pain of social discourse

masking itself behind awkwardness

when she talks about the men she dates

I dare not say … choose me you fool

I could make you dance

in a way you have not yet discovered

some people hang out of reach

even for sailors

leaning into the confessional surge

I can empathize

I would never have said yes to unwanted

dinner guests

so why should she entertain a cliché?

girls who like girls fall for those who

cannot be reached across life boats

better I hold my green tongue

admire from afar

the provoking shape of her

the way she knows

people are watching

her sway to

unrequited love songs

Fermented

She told me

it is written

memory controls pain

once forgotten it takes a mountain

to revisit it again

or a certain pair of eyes

that retracing back

remind you of the eyes you loved

when you were youthful, fat on luck

and she did not have what it took to

return the emotion

she told me

it is written

memory controls pain

you can rinse out your glass

dry it in the hot Texan air

smelling of ancho chile and fertilizer

and it will not sprout again

until you are ready to expunge the day

start over with blank slate

she said this

because it was her way

to forget what she needed

rewind the silky tape

press erase

and I did not share this propensity

nor was I able

to shine her out of my hide

she had grown long claws

they stitched inside the cry

we both denied

in our modest pin tuck blouses

and matching bobby socks

turned down once

a slight lemon frill

sensible and cloaked

the passion stucco and quiet

tasted like strawberries

fermented in hot palms

drunk over crushed ice

The melancholy of her smile

The film

shows her opening the door

stepping out

thin ankles short skirt

she’s not young but she’s got youth

on tap and wisdom to match

she makes you fall to your knees

just because she looks a second too long

in your direction

even if you didn’t smooth down your hair

shave your legs, flash your eyes

she might glance your way

with that confidence and that fragility

an impossible combination

like she was built out of the refugees

of love

hurt lying like a lover in her eyes

pinpricks of suffering alluring in the way

she survives herself and the demons

dancing rosy around her

you like how she holds on and almost falls

the spindle of her spine

strongest are the small ones

you want to take her in your arms

switch on the radio and listen in the dark

she’ll dance beneath your skin

she’s a drug she’s not perfect she’s the one

who keeps you awake thinking

if you could just reach her

inhabit the melancholy of her smile

before she winked out like a song you hum

without knowing its name

Amber

Amber used to be a color

something from frankincense bible

a captured piece of the past

coated in sticky prison

wait for me to catch you

maybe we are caught in time

like sticky insects rubbing legs

I’m chasing your long legs into sounding shadows

amber was not the smell

of you opening yourself

to my low entreaty

leave me to run myself wild over

your freckled skin and tanned cheeks

It doesn’t matter how far

wait for me to catch you

my hands and your long hair loose

amber was not the liquid

honey mounting your urge

in my mouth

making ourselves sore on rhythm

we are jarring our cries for jam

wait for me to catch you

unbuttoned in savage grace

amber was not a gentle

rain of longing spilling

over my lips

clasping your laughter to my own

skipping in each thin wish bone

wait for me to catch you

surfaces falling away to expose

amber was a faraway thing

before you became the echoing girl

with honey colored hair

chasing my blushes with your narrow hips

between your thighs releasing

the past and future of all

rebuking color

changing behind movement

like a slow melting

amber sun rise

 

Harpsichord of light

“Night after night they hang banded together, keeping silent.” – David Vogel, Jewish poet.

Looking back for all the chaff of regret

lingers a piece of you not yet hung

where all else stretches too thin for holding

as our burden is heavier than our sum

calculated on thin harpsichord of light

breaking like fleet dancers o’er head

where else will the hedgerow thrush know

her song or sleeping mouse burrow in dawn

your grey eyes like undiscovered wolves

your lips finding my own uncovered

pressing the smells of morning like riddles

against empty palms

making acrobats of ardor

still the quench

let us linger

one more purposed motion

testing time for

all who ink their name

shall fade to naught

walking from scorch

by virtue of nothing

save the fullness of their souls

caught in momentary

reflection