Intimate Encounter

Slipping
sideways

through a thin
slice in the night

he enters
unreal and

ghost like,
wraps

himself into
her and makes

for her a feast
of tongue and

touch and
gentle moan

making soft
slow love where

before there was
none.

Hungry,
she is hungry,

and he feeds her.
Every part

of her is
held in him

for this night.
She is loved,

She is
precious,

She is
beautiful.

When the night is
gone, he is gone

slipping back through
a crack

in the day not
meant for her

not meant to stay.

I have so many times wondered why I still call you friend, not best friend, not lover, not partner, not boyfriend or old boyfriend, or a man I once knew, or why I still call you anything at all.

I have convinced myself and one or two others (that grain of truth can be such an asset) that this is all thoughtful, logical, a contractual love and affection that works for the now.

And of course, it does, when my heart falls in with the dullness of my brain, and the barely scratching of numb and blind fingers is, for a moment, all that life need offer a woman stuffed full with empty boxes that begin in the cellar and overflow into every living and sleeping space of eternity, until all that boxed up emptiness is the fullness of her existence.

I remember times that cracked open into crisp cold sunshine, prompted by bursts of Yes, I Can, and up from the cellar, forged ahead by breaking through and breaking down, breaking, breaking the boxes– are they really only cardboard? Did I stomp them in my fury? Methodically open them and flatten them and neatly pile them up by the door? Did I forgive the box and welcome the emptiness? Did I welcome the box and forgive the emptiness?

Yes, yes, yes, and yes, and the world opened to light, let it in, let it in…

Since I have known you I have ignored so many things. The boxes in my cellar are spilling their emptiness over in piles and heaps and I cannot even stand to look at the ugly mess for a second. If there was once a beauty there, or for heaven’s sake just a certain orderliness, I have run it down, ripped it out, ravaged it and scavenged it in an attempt to find something … something better? ..and have left it to rot on the cold cement floor.

Oh, if you knew this of me, if you knew you would be hurt without even beginning to understand. The hurt is real, the usury that I have been accused of is true, it’s all true and it always has been. I wait, even hope for false goods, false gods - yes, they are – I know they are, and I pray that I won’t recognize them, that I’ll forget real beauty and grow accustomed to this game of pretending I want what I don’t, what I can’t even stomach, and oh, the game of being hurt because you cannot even offer me what I know I don’t want, but hate myself for wanting, begging, and accepting every little meager nothing you offer me again and again with a smile on my face as if it’s my duty to be as flat and lifeless as the very cardboard I beg to be released from.

I slip into this dead cocoon of waiting (longing?) for the nothingness you dangle in front of me, soothing and comforting you with my yes, it is so good of you to take me out to nice restaurants, what a lucky woman I am, I hold your hand and kiss you and make love to you when you say it’s just not a good idea for you to do any more for me, because we’ll get into a pattern, and I’ll never move myself out of this poverty if I don’t figure it out on my own.

And there I sit, in the very most bottom of my precious box of No, I Can’t …I sit with the empty weight of every reason that I find myself right here in this thoughtful, logical, contractual love that works for the now, every reason why I hate you and love you and beg you for more.

I am letting go
of the knight
in shining armor.
Even though my whole

life has been lived in
preparation for his
arrival, a song sung
to his greatness

and to my need for
his protection. I am
doing everything I
can to undo the conditioning;

the deep, deep need in my soul
for his strength, his prowess, and
almost more than anything else,
his undoing at the sight of me.

I catch myself again, again, again….
perhaps it’s a soldier,
maybe a CEO,
maybe even Barack Obama.

It’s the man whose strength
of character matches the beautiful
and sublime outline of his strong,
capable body. It’s the man who will

step in the way of any evil that
crosses my path. The man who
makes love to me with the strength
of tenderness - and above all,

a most amazing passion.
If he exists, this man…is
he happy in his role? Is it
really enough to exist only to

guide and protect his loved
ones? Does he long to be a loaf,
to not have the weight of the
good of the world rest on

his weary shoulders? Is he
sometimes afraid…more than
afraid….terrified? And in those
moments, who is his beloved?

Who comforts him and reassures
him that the darkness in his path
holds no power over his life?
Is she a woman merely

beautiful and submissive,
telling him only what he
believes he needs to hear?
Or is she like him in strength, in

prowess…enough to make him
whole and make him humble with
one glance?
It’s all a fantasy, I know.

All of it…the idea of a man
and a woman being more
than a bundle of hurt and
mixed up emotions…more

than a drive for physical and
sexual fulfillment….more
than the playing out of tired,
old stories, myths, fantasies,
fairy tales.

A Lonely Visitor

each breath
each word
a piece

of your
broken
heart

a
lonely
visitor

A Lover
A Friend
A Father
A Son

shadows
of your
soul

left behind
in your haste.

You will not
be returning

so I shall carry
these lonely
visitors

in the
altar of
my heart

I shall carry
these wandering
ghosts

dark-hearted
and despairing

precious and
close
I shall carry them

Sweet little sister

Sweet little sister,
you have wept enough.

The distance
Troubling
You most
Is not the distance
You feel
From others

From this man,
Or that man.
No, it is

The distance
You feel
From your own soul.

Listen to me, little sister.

Be strong.
Do not beg,
Do not plead,
Do not fear that
Your opportunity
For life with a beloved
Has been given to another.

Be still
And travel
To your depths.

Cross over.
Walk steadily.
Run for your life.

Do whatever
It is you feel
You must do,
But do it.

Please, please
Hear me when I say
The time has come
For you to greet yourself
With all the passion
And fire hot love
You can muster.

Be strong, little sister.
Be strong.

Abandon Hope

I am
abandoning hope

and living in
the knowing

this moment is
all I need

You have been lost to me again

You have been lost to me again
and again
I wander aimlessly
inside
through the halls
outside
down the road

Will I see you
there
lying in the tall grass
and wild daisies?
In the stones kicked
off the side of the path?

Cars whip past me on the road
You are lost to me more
with each passing

Then
you are there
in a green, open field where
a stand of oaks
screams with the chatter of a hundred
small black birds

In one eternal moment
Hushed
as they wish themselves
into flight

You are lost to me again

To turn

To turn, perhaps to begin
Wondering as always,
And what do I have?

Nothing fancy
Not educated and wordy and complex
Not much to make you chew and grapple

This self
This place
These eyes

The very place I've always had
The very block
of starting and stumbling

Have I begun before today?
Have all these years been so guarded
by everything I'm not and never will be?

To turn, perhaps a quarter turn
Wondering as always
If the guard will give up the ghost

I wish I could have died with you

I wish I could have died with you

All this grief,
all these years

I pull myself into Life
with tired, aching arms
and a breaking, broken heart
Day after day

The living do not understand
my love affair with Death
with rest

Rest from this
my tortured soul
who longs for you
endlessly

Breathtaking

Breathtaking
Glimpses of
Wholeness
Alive
Together

The decadent
Beautiful feel
of your wet lips
on my back
I never knew

My skin was so
Hungry
For something
For you
If only

Skin
Was all
We were
Was all
We needed

If only
This fold
In forever
Never
Arrived

We could stay
In that bliss
Breathtakingly
Whole
Infinitely

Better
Than these
Small words
Than this
Small hope

Shut The Door

Shut the door, I told you.
Shut the door, I implored.
All the while holding
it open wide.
Wildly, wantonly
widely open, open.
Hoping you
might walk through.
But now, you see, it has changed.
It’s all changed.
If you walk through,
she walks in with you.

The truth?
You are already in.
You are with me always,
And here we sit,
we three.

Risk everything.

Risk everything.
Especially, risk everything for love.
If it is true that something real, good and sacred can only be experienced, never possessed, and if it is true that we can only receive what we are first willing to give, then why not just risk everything and give all that we are to love?

The Truth Is

The truth is
I can’t make love any longer
To a man I am not
Crazy mad in love with.

I can’t make love any longer
To a man who isn’t
Looking me in the eyes
With all the passion of his life
And telling me with his mouth
And his words
His touch
Tongue
Fingers
Hands
Arms
Cock
That he loves me
And wants me forever.

I have made love for the last time
To a man whose love
For me becomes unsure when
My passion for him
For love
For making love
And bodies and sweat
For the riding slowly
Quickly in me
While his mouth
Is ever on my mouth
Breath in my breath
Becomes more than
His soul can bear of me.

I will only make love to a man
Talking
Whispering
Singing while he’s
Making love to me
The man
Who gets this deep
Deep need in me
And meets me here
Again
Again
And again.

A man who understands the bruises
On my lips from
The kisses that almost kill me
Make life worth living.

I wonder

I wonder
what I might discover
if my eyes could see
only
a road
illumined so brightly
by the burning heart of God
that it’s light
overcame
every other path
with such beauty
and grace
that those paths
of my shadow
of fear
and hatred
sighed and surrendered
as they floated
like feathers
down into the darkness
finally at peace

I wonder
where I might wander
if the soles of my feet
desired
so deeply
so strongly
to meet the ground
underneath them
with such love
and compassion
and such complete
respect
for earth and
her steadfast gift
of place
to always push against
in effort to stand
to move
to be
that I might understand
at long last
divine communion
breath and earth
the true crossroads
of all that is

I wonder
about the one
with a heart born
of the same flame
the one who will
still
recognize my voice
when the only song
I can remember
is a prayer
a love poem
a “come, my beloved” song

I wonder
if after I have sung
the final refrain
my own heart
will dare
to stay true
to it’s prayer

I wonder
if I might still
embrace my destination
if I were to find
the end of the road
is simply
truly
the very ground
I now stand upon

and if I might
welcome
the power to stay
on that sacred ground
if it’s source
came through
only
my willingness
to love
to forgive
and to place
all that I am
in the burning heart of God?

Too

All these
people

telling me I'm
too much.

I have grown
too fat

to squeeze
into

their garments.
I will let

my belly
be too round

my heart
be too full

my temper
be too true

my life
be too big.

desert island

“If we were on
a desert island,
I would be like,
yeah…totally
into you.”

I was on my third date
with Bill. We were
walking around
his neighborhood…quaint
cottage homes on
winding streets
overlooking a small lake.

“But, we’re not
on a desert
island.”

“I know, that’s what I mean.”

It was September, and in the
cool of the morning I had put
on a sweater. Now,
walking in the afternoon sun,
I was beginning to sweat.

“So….you’re not
sure you want
to see me anymore?”

“No, yeah, I do…it’s just that
we’re not on a desert
island, ya know? I mean,
I’ve always believed that
a persons situation
shouldn’t determine
what you feel about them,
and that love should
see beyond that, and
I think you’re really great, Jen…”

A heron sailed down onto
the water’s surface; long
neck, long legs. Funny thing.
Looked a lot like Bill.

“It’s just, I think we’re at really
different places in our lives.
I mean, I want to travel, and
you’re working, and you’ve
got three kids, and you’ve just
started going to school again…”

It was getting really hot and I
was pissed. What the hell
kind of thing is that to say?
If we were on a desert island…

“But Bill, I’m just making the most of
the situation I find myself in…it’s not
like I wouldn’t choose to
travel if my life allowed it…”

I stared at the water.

I saw myself
breaking through the glassy
surface, and diving down and down
and down into the cool darkness.

“Yeah, you’re right,
Bill. We’re not
on a desert
island.”

My two week infatuation

I walked right into our parking lot kiss today. The first one,
after the first date, the one we both agreed was good.

There you stood, smiling and lifted, watching me as I skipped
across the yellow lines to my car. Hopeful for us, weren't we?

Two weeks, I think, from beginning to end. Which seems like
no time at all and which makes it seem silly then that I

have been so deeply touched by you. Perhaps this sadness
will last only two weeks as well....I can hope for that, now.

If there is a lesson here for me, I guess it's that I wanted to
be kissed and touched by you. I wanted to feel, to fall in love, so

I let myself skip through two whole weeks of life smack dab
into this divine sadness because that first one, that first kiss, was good.

You Aren't Ready

You aren't ready for me.

Your arms are

folded, crossed

against your heart.

You aren't ready for

someone

who is hungry,

sitting open-legged,

holding her spoon

while she

watches you

sleeping.

You aren't ready

for someone

who has spent

years filling

her breasts with

life-bursting

good love.

Alive-good love.

There are women

I am sure who

can love you

well without

taking you

into the jungle to

hunt for your life,

for your love.

But not me.

I can't love you

well without

saying this: let's eat.

I was fine

I was fine
and didn't really even
miss you until I
made love to someone

else.
with the touch
of his hand
between my thighs

his
lips on
my breast
and breath

in my breath,
in that moment
of pleasure
and pain

you
became so
utterly gone
to me.

or was it
remembered,
not gone,
my love?

the passion.
the beautiful
slow always kissing
my mouth.

the way you whispered
"baby" and how
you knew just
when to go deep.

the sleeping next
to you and your
snore that was
so loud.

remembered, yes
and so
utterly
gone.

A Poem for Today

This morning I found my heart
In the drawer of my nightstand
Exactly where I tucked it
Years and years ago

It has occupied that small, dark space,
Like a secret, powerful
Love note, folded into itself
Pregnant with ravishing beauty

Now in daylight
Now unfolding
To tell the story
This life is worth living
This life is worth living

The first time we met

The first time we
met I could not
take my eyes off
your mouth.
Your smile,
yes - but that’s
predictable and cliché.
More -
the way your
lips moved around
words hummed through
a sweet half smile, a
smile like
that of a boy, so
young and still
moved by
the beauty of the rain
and mist in the gray
of the evening. A mouth
curved into cheeks
giving into
the life
of eyes filled with
wonder and
surprise that the day
still belongs, in some
small way,
to love.
A mouth
I would like to
kiss, with eyes
open wide, seeing
everything.