Once, I couldn’t imagine that a book could hurt. But reading, like lovemaking, is among our most private of acts and that means vulnerability. Like all secrets, a book is power. A page turns. You grow deeper into a bond you accepted with complicity. Pasts reopen. Words reveal all. I’ve loved women. And men. And…
Like Earhart
Ever since she left she keeps being gone. It is as if we were notBut if I am unrealWhy is my flesh stained by reality The shy part of my wrist a plum-blue and yellowSkin she has known as obscenely as her fingers reaching inside of my mouth. This is not a case of distance…
Whatever I have, it is something else I want.
Cold nights these. I love the cold, until it is cold, then I crave the warmth. When the sun comes out like a drag queen on stage, I am praying for rain. Whatever I have, it is something else I want. And this is what unhappiness is made of. It is December. I wrap myself…
Read to save yourself
Vulnerability is my superpower. Today I read The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse. It was just what I needed. Brave and comforting, wise and simple. A hand reaching out for my hand, it resonated deeply. It found me the way books have this uncanny way of doing; like they know it’s time….
Love in the time of separation
Amour, Time behaves differently around you; the way trees are around the time autumn comes around. Or how rowdy schoolboys turn into dulcet-toned sweethearts around the geography teacher who’s a dead ringer for Rita Hayworth. Time is not time around you. It is an imposter. Around you, time does not move like the staid tick…
Amour
This beauty your smile – like a piece of the sun, Laughter thick as cream Days endured I wait for you an unanswered prayer
Paused, not broken.
Between the words of I and love and you, missing and kissing. In between the thousand and one cities; yours and mine. Caesuras of longing belonging, turning returning. Paused, not broken. A moment. A sigh. Exhale. I pick up where you left off. We are unbroken / We are unbroken.
She/Her
Flour-kissed skin. Mouths run dry. My blood flips.
Thinking of freedom
To speak and be heard. To tell, to give, to share, and await expectation of coming upon newness. To feel the breath of another upon my cheek. To touch skin. To connect with all that is beyond living; alive. I miss everything I never used to think about before. To dirty my hands with the…
part-broken, part-whole 