Assume Presume

Sleep fast

Sleep fast, my darling.
My far away darling, so near in this small island
Yet far and far, separated from my octopus limbs
That wish to powerfully clasp you to me.

I feel the cold, more acutely, away from you,
It seeps into my bones and sharpens the blade of parting
That presses into my belly and lets in the cold
To my flesh, to my bones that long to be warmed by you.

As we part, I turn and turn around, for another glance
To feast my eyes before famine to come
To fill the recesses of my memory
Of your hands pressing me nearer
Of kisses that could not wait a moment longer
Nor end a moment earlier.

Every time our lips parted, I peeked through hopeful lashes, wishing
that the kisses would begin again, for the excitement to build
and cascade in hot rivulets down my skin
Skin that yearns to be burned by the fire of your fingertips.

I write urgently, compelled
By indulgent, desirous memory.
In my dreams, I shall seek you out.

Sleep fast, sleep fast, my darling.
My beautiful, far away darling.

See you anon.

 

Aflutter

You are terribly exciting!
And terribly distracting!

When I should be concentrating on appreciating Rachmaninov 
But oh, your hands!
Palm facing palm, fingers clasping
Nestled in contented twining
with thumbs lazily caressing the backs of hands.

When I feel the calluses on your fingertips, it foretells
Great things to come, of roughness 
dragging deliciously on cheeks and softly budding flesh
And hopeful anticipation of surrendering to
The fullness of your insistent lips and gentle tongue.

Delighting then, in the weight of your hands on mine, and in the mind-addling scent of you,
And in a quiet lull in between the Schubert lieders,
the most delicious sound of all...
the whisperous sound of your hand brushing away
the diaphanous silk of my skirt,

Sending heart, flesh, concentration, all aflutter!

 

 

 

Steel Magnolia

Shy little flower
You, my steel magnolia
Who never complains
Though burns and bruises
Mar your delicate petals.
I’ve missed you. 

With the corners of your mouth
You would will your weakness away
Though your eyes, wide and wet
Would sigh low and whisper vulnerably
Of hands to hold and soft sleep, cradled and cajoled.
How I loved those eyes.

And how your hair felt, between the flesh of my fingers.
How luxurious and cool it was, like sheets of black silk charmeuse
Pooling around your bare collarbone.
Some nights, I could have gone on stroking your hair
like a strange harp that made music decipherable only to me.
In some dreams still it echoes in my seashell ears.

And little hands, little powerful hands.
Across the table, that small distance
As wide as the Red Sea measured in coffee cups
I wanted to hold again
Those shy, uncomplaining hands,
The steel petals of my delicate flower.
And tell you how I’ve missed you. 

 

 

Leather belt

 

The leather belt I bought without much thought, turned out to be such a pleasurable, versatile thing in your hands. First to whip me with, then to tie me with. It made such delicious noises against my tanned, smooth skin, with the marks of summer and shade so apparent.

* * * *

I was wrapped up as a gift for him alone, when he came to my door.

Are you alone? Timidly I asked, in contrast to the boldness of my undress, the black leather belt tightly wrapped in a bow around my small waist. What pleasure I took in your appraising of me, of your delight in finding me so at your mercy.

How did you know that this was exactly what I wanted? He asked, as he took me into his arms, the touch firm with intent, but gentle and soft-palmed.

I said, trying to be sexy, though in fact, I felt… shy. Waiting. To be opened by you.

Do you want to turn the lights off and listen to the rain upstairs? He asked. The question alone is seductive enough. Combined with an outstretched hand, which was previously stroking my hair… was impossible to resist.

I followed him up the stairs.

 

My missing person

 

It was so beautiful tonight, on my walk back from the merriment of the post-wedding bonfire aside the Sea of Cortes.

I bid good night to the newlywed bride and groom, who were slackened with celebratory drink pushed upon them by too many well wishers and the relaxation of ceremonies well-completed, to fall hopefully and immediately, into very well deserved slumber.

I continued unhurriedly along the winding path leading to the hotel, with my golden heels held by the straps, and blue chiffon dress clutched to barefeet height. I felt very small in the grandeur of the vista, of the keen darkness of the February ocean. And I thought, how beautiful! How nice it would be to have you here with me, my missing person!

When I had stopped to take in what I had taken for granted, everything became still, I lost track of time for a moment, and felt adrift at sea, with the roar of the ocean upon me, and the stars shivering in the distance, ecstatically... it was a timeless event, that felt to me, a mere mortal, a strange way to briefly achieve immortality, having experienced something universal, that which has existed for so long, that all sentient beings, whether ancient or newly conceived, would marvel similarly at such a sight...

And I felt grateful to be able to have the wonder in my being, to stop, timelessly and marvel, rather than drunkenly revel, and let such a moment pass me by, without conscious reverie. 

The night ocean is compellingly beautiful and the stars, like icy jewels strewn carelessly in the sky, caught in a fine net of midnight blue, gossamer silk. In the dark, it is impossible to tell where the ocean ends, and the sky begins.

I wanted, badly, to have you there, to share that liminal beauty with me.

 

 

 

Wet

Raining outside.

The memory of love is long. Perhaps even longer than the love actually shared.

In the middle of the night, I had a curious missing, a small emptiness that arose, rather suddenly. I suddenly remembered what it was like to kiss your lips.

Of lips parting and softly touching in an embrace, warm and tender. And looking into your eyes with no conflict and only finding welcome openness.

It’s raining outside. The drops are fine and soft. And I can barely hear the droplets on the leaves outstretched like upturned palms and on the mottled cobblestones of my garden.

I don’t know what awakened this missing of you. This awareness of missing you. The awareness that you are, indeed, missing from me.

I had spent all day being beautiful, confident, intelligent, seductive and independent of others, and you, for my emotional welfare.

And at night, not just night, but night precisely when my consciousness has overstayed its welcome. I’ve forced myself to stay awake for no particular reason at all… and in the darkness as I finally, sensibly succumb to slumber, and only then, am I aware of “lack” “space” “vacuum” “empty” – concepts that have become visceral in the blueness of dawn. These are not hungry, desperate emotions, demanding fulfillment.

No. Not that.

It’s an awareness, like the gentle rain outside, that slowly dampens my senses.

I am a little frightened that this may wet me entirely, that I may lose myself and my purpose in this deluge of missing. That I may come to drown in it. That I may ache and soon acutely hurt, despite not having been affected by your taking leave of New York, of me, for other, more important things. I accepted it, and the parting and the aftermath, as we separated in body and mind, dissolved silently and increasing our bonds in space and time.

So reasonable was my acceptance, so mature and methodical, and slow, that I thought it were genuine and organic. Progressive development, positive ends for great beginnings of new possibilities.

So organic was my indifference, so natural my assumption of apathy that I began to doubt our connection and relegate it to mere sexual chemistry, or my hypomanic elation and euphoria. I will not know, as I lack objectivity.

But there was something there, wasn’t there? Something genuine. An exchange. A flow. Something broke. Something ended. I didn’t want to have to mourn it. And I am slowly, wet, awaring myself to that necessity. This is not meant to be easy and there are no emotional shortcuts.

All things are exchanges, of this I became aware when I left my twenties behind. And for my happiness with you, I now experience the sorrow of parting and passing.

I miss the we that was. I must have loved you, Julian.

 

Originally written on November 3, 2010

 

Carino

I woke one night
As the light was turning blue
And found the side of the bed empty.
A side I had forgotten you took up.
Although you have been gone a long time already
And I no longer look forward to seeing you.
Nor do broken promises disappoint me any longer.
I had become so reasonable and forgetful.

With what wise words, had I consoled myself
And explained myself into believing
My passion for you were those of a fool’s
When reciting to friends, our end?
With what wisely crafted words could I
Dam my tears now
As I realize this missing, lingers,
Growing stronger, fueled by tempered suppression.

I taught myself how to forget
How you felt in my arms as I held you, on nights like these
And under my adoring hands, how your body yielded
Because when I remember, I lose my breath in pain,
So capable still of remembering so viscerally.
And my heart aches and my throat wells.
I quiver as blue gives to violet and crimson.
I am no longer that person that belonged to us. And I’ve closed that door.
Mi querido, I no longer want to love you.

This memory passes through me as though a blunt blade,
To someone desiring death.
And so, I’m returned excruciatingly to myself
Who no longer clasps you to me.
Whose body is separated from you.
I’ve become so terribly reasonable in your absence, carino.

I will read these words another time, to remember how I felt.
How you inspired me to be so foolish.
And in love.

 

 

 

 

Melancholia

I am melancholy. It’s the 10^th of January. Not too late for New Year’s Resolutions that won’t be kept. I miss you terribly, dearest. The saddest part of this is that I do not allow myself to express these sentiments to you, because I am too afraid, though I know, you too, hunger for affection and loyalty.

I’ve turned off the lights and sunlight, dimmed by snow, peers through the garden window. Miles Davis, Autumn Leaves.

I am somewhere on the verge of tears and sadness. Most of all this confusion, descends… much like when you’re kissing me, your tongue so expert, whether in sweet whispers or in ardent, voracious appetite for my flesh, teasing me, keeping me titillated. Like Tantalus might have grasped at the feast, I am liminally hovering, my state never quite anything definable. Beneath you, held in your powerful arms and possessive hands, I arch, plummet, claw at release, beg for your mercy.

I love to beg.

I realize that this is my choice. To hover. To refuse clarity.
The familiarity and resonance makes me weep.

I can hear the distant wingbeat, the pulse erratic,
as it tires from constant flight.
It isn’t time yet, no.
Please.
Please.
Just a few more weeks and I promise it will be spring.

How long the way still is. My steps, still forward, are slow and plodding.
Especially in this snow, as it begins to gather.
Such a picturesque backdrop to my self-destructive tendencies.

Can someone shake up this snow globe and topsy turvy everything
‘til things settle down right again?

On  the verge of tears. And release.

How I miss you, dear baby.
How I miss you.

How long ‘til your return?
And how will things have changed
for a person so afraid of change?

I hope I can withstand the distance, the temptations, the emptiness of spirit,
how quiet and dim my world is when you are gone.
 
You, dearest,
the object of my affection, my distraction.

Boy Oh Boy

Dearest darling,

I really miss you.

Wish I could hold your hand and lean

my little weight on your shoulder.

 

Sending kisses to you, your eyelids, your hands

the scar on your back, your fluffy noggin'.

 

Everything.

 

I feel

 

so tenderly towards you.

and vulnerable.

 

But! The truth is,

I'm too frightened of letting you know,

Lest you pull away and I am alone.

 

No.

I don't want to be left,

especially by you. You're of

consequence to me.

 

Though you haven't asked it of me,

I've been playing Penelope

to your (hopefully sans Calypso) Odysseus!

 

I can't wait for your return and

yet frightened by how little communication

has connected us these past few weeks…

 

Perhaps just delusion? This mistaking

the quality of time spent together before

you took leave.

 

Maybe you think of me as much as I do of you.

Maybe not.

 

Grr...

 

What I know is that you

are missed by me.

By me.

And will be, while you are in Hong Kong.

 

I wish you wouldn't stay so far or long away.

It eats away at me, you see.

It's a dull pain that I can barely admit

even to myself.

 

While you're gone, I fill my time

with your friends, desiring

even that company which is familiar,

though seriously lacking. Boo...

 

I hunger for you.

Only you.

 

Boy

 

Oh

 

Boy

 

Have I got it bad for you!

To you I give me freely!

Dear thing, dear thing

I miss you so much.

I want to be your thing too

Even being possessed would be okay

If you'll only have me.

 

I miss your fluffy hair

All golden brown and kissed by sun

And smooth torso and boyish frame

And those delightful lips and tongue

That makes me all liquid and burst!

 

I love all that control you have over me

Exquisite, til I beg and yearn, with you unrelenting.

I can't wait until I'm liquid in your mouth again!

 

The delirious distraction the memory of you inspires...

 

To you I give me freely!