This Moment Is

One of those moments
when something strikes
as so ordinary
it becomes extraordinary
when you least expect it
and that inner voice says,
“yes, this! make note
of this!” whatever
this moment is,
and so you jot it down
because you don’t want
to forget; the color of
a sunset, or the sound
of the crickets, or the way
his hair looked and reminded
you of disheveled
salt and pepper
you just wanted to run
your hands through it,
to feel the weight
and thickness of everything
life presents to you
as a constant wonder
unfolding, like origami
backwards almost
spells imagine
how a piece of paper
becomes a swan.

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For You

There is something to be said
lovely, about a face,
or the sound of a voice,
or the way he looks
when he’s busy
doing other things,
yet has left with you
his thoughts,
is like “how many books
can you hold within your arms?”
he’s written for you.

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Of The Essence

They say Time is of the essence
in all such matters,
where we must,
quicken, make haste!
When the doors to the
heart have been flung
wide and open and all
its furnishings rearranged,
for this; Love’s triumphal entry.

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Kiss and Ask

How honest
do we let ourselves
get and
how often and
how raw,
as the burn on
my shoulder felt
searing and hot and
is this what honesty
feels like?
in the beginning
and then cools
as the heat
moves out of
the deepest layers,
until only left
on the surface
and then is gone,
and I wonder,
will it leave a scar?
he might one day
trace with his finger,
kiss and ask,
how it was
I burned
my shoulder,
this small mark
I’ve made,
and how still,
it hurts a little,
and I suppose
it will continue
until all this truth is said.

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Sliding scales
and thoughts of
cool ivory
and ebony,
a different
set of keys
upon the
lightly and
precariously set,
they move
at will,
like dancing
fairies, who
make music
of songs
no one
will ever sing.

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Bedtime! (10:01 pm)

6 minutes –
before I close
my eyes.
Now 5 minutes
with the last
50 seconds spent
thinking of words
while I watch
the clock
and how fast
it goes.
4 minutes –
and this poem,
no wait!
3 minutes now,
with 3 minutes
to re-read
what I wrote,
but I took so long,
I’ve only 1 minute
before I switch
the lights out,
now I’m one
minute past.

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The Space Between (and how do I bridge this gap?)

He’s filling up
and spilling over
the edges,
at the corners now;
of every waking
and all the hours,
I’m not sleeping,
what does he
when he speaks
of the
of the face,
my face,
as he calculates –
is he calculating?
and taking
all such accurate
needed to know
and like –
does he like?
such as the
amount of space
the eye sockets?
or the slight rise
in cheekbones
gravity can’t
and will not have
its way with.

I don’t know,
but what I do know;
how lovely
I think he is –
and I want him.

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I wake
to the muffled
primal sounds
of sex
through paper
thin walls.
My new neighbors,
I have not met yet
getting it on
this Saturday
morning but,
it by far
the crying baby
who lived there
And it’s funny,
how this one action
can eventually beget
the other,
that I can’t help
but think,
how little do
they know.
So far past
all that,
now wanting more,
with thoughts
my own;
of arms
and legs
wrapped around him,
the man I’d love,
and all that
good energy
that between us

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On The Mind

As if we speak in circles,
where words come back
round again, aware of
every movement;
of the hands,
the face, the eyes,
even the lift of the brow
into the forehead,
and why is it I love
this expression; inquisitive?
as my senses seem
too heightened,
where even language
will lose its meaning
on the mind,
for how hard it is to listen,
in these brief
and puzzling moments,
that he will ask me later,
in a whisper, in the dark,
“what was it you remembered?”
he who speaks
as the man I love,
and I will tell him –
what words stuck in my heart.

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The Dance

Like thought bombs,
his words drop
and my head spins
in poetry
with the force
of his hand upon me,
and I want to
push back
in word
and challenge him
to “touch me again,”
because I want to go
“somewhere, anywhere!”
Because, with him,
“I want the dance!”
So push me,
or pull me,
if you have to,
and take the lead
you won’t regret.

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