Shaky hands please calm
Upset tum please settle now
But please don’t leave me
Shaky hands please calm
Upset tum please settle now
But please don’t leave me
Hot wind. Now I’m home.
Watermelon rose tea too.
Southern wife, sweet life.
The moment he calls
I want to be by his side
Like how a leash works…
Meet me 4pm
Hand on hand like a mirror
“I’ve missed you darling.”
If love is a hotel…
And my love is on the top floor…
What gets me in the door?
To the front desk?
On the elevator?
With a key to the top floor? (Of course that floor is locked and guarded by fearsome goons.)
To the same room on the top floor?
And into his arms to save his life?
Crystal ice like shells
Once we fall through, won’t we freeze?
Scurry back laughing
I stir the cream into my coffee. The sky is lit with the moon and it keeps me awake enough to race with my thoughts. “Compatible,” I think. I keep getting hit with this word when I least want to hear it. When I make a play for permanence, the other party starts their doubts. “Is it me or her timing?” “Is she consistent?” “Is she looking at me right now?” I don’t want to make them uncomfortable, but I do. And then they hit me with it. “Do you think we’re compatible?” And the next move is crucial. Because once they ask, there is only one correct answer.
All the while we snooze
Sorrow billows, tears…. pillows
‘Tis better to have…
spinning side effects
dizzy, ditzy, heartbeat too
petals in a pile
Heart blooms toward him.
There is no safe place to love.
Heart blooms toward her.
when the real thing’s far
to loop in my head—our heads
perfect then perform
palm leaves mid-summer
kiss of caramel apple too
lush green-gold haiku
Suppressed, I yearn still
Perfected a cheesecake too!
Cooled on window sill
Now I am supposed to grip your hand back
Otherwise you’ll try checking my pulse
Be alive. Stay present.
I was supposed to lean against you
but splashed Slurpee in your frozen lap and now you’re bluish
How long was I squeezing your hand?
Like a doula, you let me realize when the nerves were gone
And simply didn’t call me again.
resistance is futile.
thinking of us daily
prepared you for me
since before you’d heard
of resistance.
and still
you have wanted it.
In bed without solace of rest
Each sand of the day falling
In poring over the text of ages.
Like bed-light under comforter
Many moons ago.
Still a similar warmth of spirit
And text of ages in hand:
A letter.
From father to long lost love
Not mother.
Proof of an everlasting trial.
Secrecy by the fault lines
Which brought forth death
In the form of children.
A text for the ages.