Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Everyday (Every day)

You tell me you are not afraid.

You tell me what you require of love - speak of
magic/passion/making love
every day.
And I am


Not for what I feel for you.  
I trust my deep desire for you, 
beyond words (I want more of you)
every day.

I trust my willingness to
open my magical and passionate
self to you (I will open for you)
every day. 

A ripple moves from belly to throat, beyond and back again.

Will you see me, when I open?
Will you know me, when I open? 
(I will open for you)

My magic is of the earth: steadfast and mostly silent
unless you listen closely.

My passion clamors with too many words
do you know what I mean?

My everyday is just that: commonplace, ordinary
it's all I have to give.

The ripple/the wave/ the tide
moves me forward into the fear, beyond and back again.

Because maybe, you will. 

Sunday, March 10, 2013


Everything feels
so hard and it’s
raining outside.
Sleep is hard; I blame
hormones. But red wine
lingers, telling another story.

In my mind
I see you as you
were - on the opposite edge
of the couch,
legs stretched across
my lap and a million
miles from me.

You take my hand,
say something sweet.

But distance makes translation
difficult-the tender heart that
flourished in
morning love made hours
before buttons possibility
in a dense cell coat.

I wonder, then, about magic.

And -
if there is enough,
between us and
the million miles stretched therein,
to sustain.

If wanting is all that is required, we
are home, my love.

We are home.
Morning bursts full
and alive; we can rest in her

Tell me, again, something sweet.