My.

My constellation My launch pad of a thousand ships – your beauty is alchemy My belly is dough My breath is leaving me My knees betray

Amour

This beauty your smile – like a piece of the sun, Laughter thick as cream Days endured I wait for you an unanswered prayer

Almost Holy

The longing for you is almost holy. Warm you sleep; your eyelids closing are the night coming for me. Inescapable love of lives,  my lingering ache is the origami crane tucked in your breast. Doing undoing wills and possibilities: with each breath, life raises itself and with every exhale it returns. As it is with all…

Kermes

  Helen, you look like a new wound tonight. Your lips rubbed raw by one thirsty for your skin. Helen, the red you wear begs you for mercy. Your cloak of blood brings even the night to shame. I cannot speak the language that asks for you to take it in its mouth. I know…

Book Review: The Sea in You by David Whyte

The Sea in You: Twenty Poems of Requited and Unrequited Love by David Whyte My rating: 5 of 5 stars Reading David Whyte is not unlike praying. He is easily a messiah for our troubled times, bringing with him loaves of compassion, and fishes of insight. David’s writing is a call to that which is…

Postcards from Istanbul /8

“She was like a landscape you see from the train, and you want to stop just there.” – Graham Greene, ‘The Living Room”   What a difference a smile makes. How it shifts landscapes and ruins the topography of the heart. And how it does and undoes the shoelaces of our reserve, our restraint, and…

My body sends you letters

I miss you. From the rumble inside my gut I miss you. From the wince and gasping ache for your heat, I miss you. From between my tendons, from the twitch of my muscle, from the creak of my aging bones, I miss you. From the soft dark of my hot heart, the steady rise…

Postcards from Istanbul /6

“She inspired you, you loved her and sang of her; her task was done.” – Franz Liszt in a letter to Hector Berlioz, 1854   The give of a soft pear surrendering to my teeth. The burst of plum in my mouth; juice dribbling down my chin onto my helpless blue shirt. The tickle of…

Postcards from Istanbul /5

“Or give me back one shred from our hundreds  of days – a forgotten word, or look – that I might lie here counting  them, like sheep, waiting out the dark.” – Greg Johnson, Insomnia   Dear, sweet one. Gratitude today for the precious few moments I received to see you. Your face that I…