the slivered moon
[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]
there they go again
those coyotes
reminding me of your absence
i walk
i look
i better myself
and nothing
the slivered moon sees you
but i don’t
the howls remind me
the bed reminds me
the feeling beneath my chest
knows something is missing
a dark moment
full of promise
maybe they are talking to me
to her
i am not ready
i am not ready
i am not finished
completing myself
this perfecting loneliness
is honest work
if you can stomach the hours
perhaps the howling
is felt
by many
10-8-13
seeking each moment
[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]
kissing this night
and the crickets singing
in harmony with the clear cold stars
holding this image of fascination
with just where you are
how the light of this darkness
strikes your heart
your fancy
and are you longing too
10-6-13
word after word seeking another
[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]
ensnaring her in my imagination
she stumbles across my words
rapt and tingling from the assumptions
she is young and old
and finding new pleasures
where the previous ones have gone missing
i meet her in my projections
lover, romantic, singer, dancer
i too am shutting down old wings
unproductive castings
lost kisses
in this very word
and this one
she is taken
mine
9-23-13
fall arriving
[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]
and the weather changed and changed everything
i smile, imagining your smile
as the leaves swished down and past
rain smell and damp earth hunger
and memories, hopes, and dreams
of you
and
you called
9-21-13
peacefully anticipating someone
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
we don’t have much time
and all the time in the world lies before us
it is about what we choose
who we are to become
and what cast of characters we’d like to
write into the next scene
i sit here
type type typing
and you there
type type typing
working for a living
and a moment
and the space
in
time
if we choose something else
we have decided
if ‘maybe’ is the constant answer
no is the result
i am not saying this
i am typing this
i am afraid
to say
i want you
to crave you
to have and to
it might be easy
but only time will tell
this time
that tics and clicks away
beneath our fingers
across the backs of our wings
i have known flight
and i can remember what that feels like
the ground is no place for dreamers
and lovers
perhaps the lover in you is still obscured
or perhaps it is me
any moment
is every moment
and without you
they are alone
moments
okay
but alone
i am ready to be not-alone
i imagine smelling your neck
and the coarseness of your toes after a long walk
the dampness
this rain comes
blows and goes
this breath returns again and again
wanting
desiring
i am singing as loud as i know how
but i am still learning
i am working on it
you
you must work on yourself
and the lover you may become
if you want to
i can ask
i can sing, and swoop, and dip
i fly nearby
i flutter
i type type type
you type type type
but the words are not for each other
the words
the wings
the wind beneath my heart
warm
fierce
peacefully anticipating
someone
arriving here again
at patience
7-26-13
an easy wish
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
if i had a way to reach out and stroke your back i would
just a touch to let you know i am here
i am thinking about you
and hope that you are smiling
it is an easy wish
there are so many strands between us
communication devices and channels
but this is different
i want you to feel me
i want you to notice my absence
and in that moment
i want you to remember how often i touch
not with a question or a request
just a hello
a reassurance
a nudge towards a happy direction
this is what i am imagining right now
to you
this touch
7-24-13
unanswered
[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]
after the 27th unanswered love poem
i discovered
of course i already knew
that i was making the whole thing up
maybe i had been ambiguous
or lacking in direct action
a poem is not exactly a kiss
6-26-13
i believe, i pray, i fly
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
and if i bring poems to her and she doesn’t understand
when i sing songs and she gets bored
if i offer a casual massage and she’s too busy
what then?
and if i ask and provide opportunities
when i wait and hold out hope
can i become addicted to longing
what then?
i know what missing you feels like
before we’ve even met
i can smell you, and feel your hair in my face
i know what i have lost
and if the shower after the day on the beach
and the cool dark unfamiliar room
rough and clean white sheets
the curtains billowing in the blow of the ac
and if my longing does not call you in
and my waiting proves fruitless again
i can still send out sirens songs
and use this desire as a sail
of course i hunger for her
and a near miss is a miss completely
and a word, a poem, a song, are precious
even without an ear to whisper into
in fibers deep in my soul i know
she is nearby, doing her thing
i am not finished with my baking
these ‘projects’ are just beginning
perhaps at this moment
she would be a distraction
and from afar she is muse, lover, mother
vixen, tease, goddess, everything
i know what longing feels like
i learned to do without even when she was next to me
i can thrive alone, in desirous creation
i don’t want to, but i do
sing along little bird
bring your bright feathers into my mouth
give flight to your fantasies as well
there is time, there is time, there is always time
hearts a flutter in beautiful presence
i am still becoming more loveable
my plan is drawing you in
even as I have failed to execute in the past
i can call, and write, and throw
poems and intentions and agendas at you
i can wait and be patient
to see if you will ignite
perhaps you are that one
that madonna that brings me to god, again
again, I am ready
i believe, i pray, i fly
i believe, i pray, i fly
6-19-13
it’s about time
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
and then i open my mouth and I have no idea what comes out
i’m nervous, in love, tortured to make contact
and nothing
it’s not that absence makes the heart grow at all
absence is just lack of you, face time, touch time, touch
all these virtual pokes and likes and touch-ins
are no match for the rush of time, tic, time, tic
it’s about time
it’s about time
5-30-13
endless running
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
she opened her mouth like she opened her mind
i could not stay there
a language i did not warm up to
running, all this endless running
she was fit and pretty
and must have heard a similar discord
she paid, but didn’t return my texts
5-17-13
anticipating the rain with you
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
i am anticipating the ocean with you
the rain and the clouds
the sounds and the smells
of you
i am anticipating the touch of your hand
the taste of your lips
and how i feel when i think of being
with you
i am anticipating your next move
falling into step
and falling asleep
beside you
i am anticipating how you sound
when you laugh or moan
in an instant i can almost
imagine you
i am anticipating someone who can light the sky
silence the night
walk down beaches in the dark
holding you
i am anticipating the disruption of everything i imagine
of plans and hopes and dreams
now even more real than my hopes
about you
i am anticipating
5-12-13
i want to know again
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
i will find my next great love
there will be no trail of little black dresses
across the countryside
i will slow down the runaway train
i will listen
i am patient
i wait with intention
i listen and learn
even what I am saying I want
changes
and she will assemble for me
necessary shapes and smells
she will embody
i will find the next great love
and I will love again
fully
willfully
hopefully
without tether
actively seeking
i slow my roll
i clear and cleanse my palette
i get quiet and hollow
i can feel the emptiness
that once was filled
full
joyous and thrilling
she arrives when she comes
she arrives and asks me the tough questions
she had other plans
she opens just a little to see how I will respond
i am not waiting for someone to board my train
i am not looking for enmeshment
i am looking to stand strong and together with her
when she is ready to let me in
when the trust, and passion, and easy living of life
is too much to resist
she will be in my arms
and I will know
i have arrived
at possible
again
i had her once and lost
i will have her again
she is mine
she is ripe
she waits without waiting
she knows nothing
everything is an opening before us
and in the fresh air of the morning or the late chill of the evening sky
i can imagine what it will be like to be with her
here
in this moment
and she is fluttering nearby
she is sleeping
it is late
i cannot reach out to her just yet
it is too soon to tell
what kind of lover she will make
it is too soon to meet her child
it is too soon to hope beyond the doubt that awakens inside the hopefulness
it is too soon to give my poem an object
if we find a connection
and we both ask for more
if she listens and speaks
if her flame is brightening and warming
if i know anything, i know that i love well
and i will love her with everything i have
i do not hold back
i know that i will love well again
i know that the little black dress is a metaphor and a gateway
i am looking for that drug that never ceases to amaze
that cosmic mist
to come over our eyes and make everything sparkly
radiant
abundant
possible
i want to sleep, laugh, cuddle, caress on into my hundreds
and i’d like to do it with one more woman
all these sirens are confusing
i think i know
i don’t know
i want to know again
4-27-13
little bird
[from a coffee love letter – poetry]
little bird i would do nothing to hurt you underestimating my strength pausing to let you pass opening hand
4-23-13
travel together
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
when she trained her blue eyes on me and asked
“are you checking me out?”
i knew i had been snagged
at a game i most definitely wanted to be caught at
and she smiled
“yes”
she wanted to know how she’d done
and her eyes matched her blue shirt
and her smile revved the tempo of my heart
for a beat
“you did quite well, i mean…”
the words are not what escaped me
i paused to slow down and savor the moment
“i was”
and though there was distance and a table between us
we were pressed as close together as we’d ever been
“i’ve discovered that adoration is what grows
over time… and that may be what love is for me…
adoration”
breathing
“and were you checking me out?”
“not when you first arrived…
not until I saw that you were checking me out…”
guide rails: physical touch and emotional depth
unexplainable chemistry: “I could look at you forever”
and when all concepts and frameworks fail
there
then
develops the opportunity
to travel together
begin
4-19-13
twist of the hip
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
i don’t need a woman
i crave a woman who knows and wants to love
deeply, fearlessly, without regret
i can pick her out of a crowded bar
the one out of the thirty women there
i imagine she is putting out her vibes
that she is looking at me too
in the lights and live music she is probably just watching the crowd
but there she is
the one woman for me within this tight radius
we could both be lucky
so much information in the way a woman
moves to the music
even from a chair
it is the same way she will make love
in the world outside
her dance is even more important
is her step and life filled with sensuous motion
from the body flows the soul
they cannot hide from one another
she cannot hide from me
either
i will ask
i will know
i will press into dark places without request
but her body has a love language
i am eager to learn
and her spiritual state will be laid bare
in a single glance and the twist of the hip
the path forward is open and necessary
yet i still know…
that all of this…
that all… of… this…
all of this…
poetry is projection
she is warm, willing, and at a show
on some early Saturday evening
she moves and her signals wash over me
4-7-13
after the state of getting
[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]
she had the most beautiful shoes i’d ever seen
and she stepped out of them like a fragile animal
on alert
she had arrived ready
she knew what she wanted
fear and excitement can seem as the same
in this moment, there was no mistaking
the flutter from the fever
there would be no flight
except into the snare of my lips
and bed and
breath
knowing, wanting, and getting
are very different states
in the state of getting
the little black dress was simple and sexy
and expendable
any description here would break the spell
spoil the mystery
and the mysterious sacred journey of lovemaking
as she was putting the beautiful shoes back on
i couldn’t help but watch
fascinated
the snare released, the quarry smiling and unhurried
her pretty legs now moving with a new tremor
released, relaxed, satisfied for a brief moment
we were together
we are not
and the afternoon becomes a wash
memories and smells overwhelm all obligations
in my daydream stare out the window
i notice movement in the grass
and notice my sleepiness
i return to the bed
alone
4-6-13
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