Why you looking down lovely
is it cause it hurts to look up at the sky
with the sunlight so bright
the colors so vibrant
the sky so vast and vacant
or cause the world below is of
much more interest
can I walk and look with you at the ground
will you show me why it seems we can't connect
is it cause my feet aren't touching the ground
my head in the clouds
I can't focus on the blades of grass
or the mounds of dirt
maybe we can meet at the horizon
if we just keep walking

I have not seen the colour of your eyes

I have not seen the colour of your eyes
too long it has been
yet everyday I see your picture
on the screen of the window
to the world
too long
I have not heard your voice
but I speak to you everyday
on the screen that connects us all
so long has it been since I felt your touch
or your breath upon my neck
but it seems only a matter of time
until technology fixes that too

Funny how it's worked out
that you and I have become comfortable
with this arrangement
of toying and teasing each other
in person and long distance
how I send you words about your
elegance and desirability
and you send me images of your flesh
and mementos of our nights
I wonder if you save these words
like I save the memories they're built on
I wonder if you wore that skirt for me
and then you bite your lip and I know
you do and did.

I am so very aware of the curve
of your hips
as I have them in my hands
with them I find it very easy to signal
how and when I would like you to move
and you too have become adept
at communicating through them
as you're quite too busy
with your mouth to be bothered

I wish you were here to pass the lamentable weekend
days and nights pass in succession
out of discussions
out of orange juice in the fridge
go to the store and meander the aisle
wide enough for one but not for two holding hands
walking carefully on the light colored squares
passing the piles of frozen poultries
turning the corner I see that her ass looks like yours
making me flee for the comfort of home

Let me tell you bout a girl I know
how her smile reflects in her eyes
about her lips and her hips and her thighs
how she could blow your mind
how she could make it
worth your time
how she seems to know
just where you want to go
how to get from a to b
and everywhere in between
let me tell you bout the things she does
how she'll tease you while you eat
oh and the things she does with her teeth
how I can't get her out of my head
how I can't wait til she's back in bed
and oh the things she says to me
how her smell is in my sheets
and fingertips on my cheeks

my favorite time to look in your eyes
is when I'm between your thighs
mouth on your mound lips to lips
your adoration shines right through
and the way your lids flutter
when I languidly lap at your
lovely little button
sends shivers down my spine
how you tangle your hands in my hair
pushing up and down from both sides
I can feel you looking down at me
in pleasure and wonder and joy
leaving yourself on my chin and sheets

What is the half life on longing
the statute of limitations on love
the length of time before
I can move the fuck on
what is the depth of depression
the time you have to wait
for the sound the pebble makes
after it's been thrown down the well
why are we always falling and late
chasing after rabbits
in hats with pocketwatches
who sets the time frame for this
or that
and what are you doing
why are you still around
orbiting silently
like a ghost or whisper
just out of earshot

Audacity must have compelled me to think
that the blue white shine of newness would last
that the days of talking til dawn would prevail
when time and logic dictated otherwise
but when have I had time for logic
I wrote you letters that I never sent
thoughts trapped in amber by fear
destroyed in the stasis of notebooks left behind
aborted attempts at ambitious adulation
how could I have thought that we were anything
other than two people
circling the heavens like constellations
Orion and Cassiopeia trapped forever
in twilight dances and midnight remonstrations

The crashing waves of yesteryear

The crashing waves of yesteryear
break upon the reefs of the present
and we sit on the beach watching them
counting the seagulls
picking our thoughts from the foam
throwing them back from the beachhead
watching them skim against the sunset
paper airplanes against a fire sky
and we sit back down and watch
as night falls and the tide
takes with it our memories

the Death of Your Alto Voice

The death of your alto voice brings tears to mine eyes
waiting desperately for the days when I hear it anew
this time might persistence pay off
might it be seen for the adoration it really is
opposed to the obsessiveness it seems
might it be that once
absence will make that which is absent missed
instead of forgotten
how could you forget about all the things we said
the promised dreams of tomorrow
bright white hot light of love letters sent instantaneously
streaming across the ether of interwhatever
from you to me and back again
we are living in the modern age and time is speeding up
perhaps that means the life cycle of love is too

If she wanted she could rule the world
she could steal my soul for a sunbeam smile
if you're lacking inspiration
all you have to do is reach outside
feel the warmth of daybreak on your skin
all you had to do was say anything
anything at all would have been worth
the weight of eternity
all I want is to feel the grass between my toes
and to see you on a blanket reading these
words calling out to the depth of temerity

Between you and I

Gilded honey dipped words
have not been enough
have not been insightful
have not cracked the hard walls that you've erected
supposing like all things
it pales as time goes on
we even take for granted the glory of sunsets
and smiles, half lidded and shy
words mouthed across hallways
across oceans and deserts
across the gulf between me and you
I don't suppose it matters
for it would seem you think all things do
but I protest to you
that not all things are like flowers
they do not wither
nor their scent falter in intensity
nor do their petals lose sheen or luster
they persist unwatered and unattended
no matter how neglected they might be
in coffeeshops and kitchen counters
on the window sill between you and I

symphony of two

The long straight plateau of your score
stretches out in front of me
while hips work a fervent rhythm
in time to internal orchestration
a symphony of two
the hard shift of fast breaths
punctuated by the snare taut cries and sighs
of salacious slippery slides
up and down the octaves
heading for the bridge of chorus and verse
the junction of bawdy and verve
crescendos piling on each other
with cymbal crash punctuations
building an anticipation
an emancipation
dedication
of transitive mirth