I so badly wanted it
to be you.
It was temporary.
We were, that is.
That made it
no less real.
I sure did
like to pretend,
though.
I held on
just in case
i was proven
wrong.
Tag: my poetry
Split
“Stay present,”
He advises.
Lovingly;
Selflessly
“I don’t want
you split between
two places.”
I want to laugh
You see,
you’ve been with
me, in the
mountains of
West Virginia.
Along the shores
of the
Great Lakes.
I saw you in
the mouth of
Mammoth Cave.
When the fireworks
reflected in
the D.C. waters.
I haven’t left
your hometown
in weeks.
“I’ll do my best,”
I assure him.
I’ve been trying
to untangle my
feet
wrestle them into
one place
For over a year.
loves
and in the end
or the beginning
which ever end
you start to
untangle or
string together
it's in loving them
both
that will
restore
or
renew
which ever
frame you
choose
it’ll be the
same picture
It’s not one
or the other
I keep trying to
picture either
course
and they begin
with loose ends
and finish
in tight knots
I’d rather hold
both
if they let me.
Full
Kisses fall to my forehead to the crevice of my neck "What are you doing?" I ask, laughing, holding his face between my hands. "I don't want you to run out." He kisses my forehead, again. "Then I need 10 more." He takes my face in his hands. "There," he responds, looking satisfied., "I gave you 12."
I wonder about the people the ones who slip off their coat and place it on the seat or above in the train's compartment I wonder about the ones who keep their coats on the ones who haven't yet settled in the ones who are ready to leave I think there's a real difference between the two.
Request
You, sitting there
in my room
full of fleeting
Autumn sunlight
I wanted nothing more
than permanence.
“How about we
spend the day
just laying here
looking at each other?”
You laughed
as if my question
was comical
As if it was
possible
for me to want
anything
beyond life
in your eyes.
Meditate
The doctor
asks me
if I meditate.
He tells me
it may help
alleviate
my anxiety
my (often) self-made
turmoil.
I smile.
“Sure,”
I say.
I meditate
in the mornings
when his
hand reaches
under
the covers
for my own.
I meditate
under the rays
of the rising sun
as I
listen to his sounds
of sleep.
I meditate
in the smell
of his skin
on the constellation
of his sun spots
in the wrinkles
around his mouth
as he smiles.
"Yes,"
I continue.
"I meditate every day."
I meditate
to my heart’s song
and the rhythm
it shares with his.
Inspiration
I like
that you do not
inspire in me
sad poems
and wistful hope.
Hope isn't something
needed
between you and I.
I anticipate
I ask
and receive.
Rising
Eye contact
the intimacy involved
in a gaze
that does not look away
even when my own
breaks
from the vulnerability of it.
Falling for him isn't
falling at all.
It's a form of rising
into something
greater than myself.
Rising into
a choice
of selecting
healthy thoughts
to believe
over maladaptive
pervasive
patterns of painful ones.
My body opens for him
and not simply to please
but to be pleasured in return.
He told me in some ways
it feels like I'm
a part of him.
He is steady
secure
he is calming.
I like the idea
of my own self
being a part
of him.
And he of my own.
Falling for him
isn't falling at all.
I don't feel a need
to be caught.
I feel the impulse
to rise.
In joy
What
is joy
compared to
a lasting
ache
In joy
I lack the
preoccupation
the restless attachment
the wondering if
my feelings are matched
or returned at all
In joy
all I have
is the way
you leaned in to kiss me
The memory of standing
in the stairwell
you held my gaze
you held me
to share you’re not
seeing anyone else
All I have
are the hands
that didn’t let go of mine
from that first kiss
in the middle of your kitchen
I’m not sure how to write
in joy
But I can try.
The Restless Crescent 