Introspection is Over-rated

Cruel and beautiful are the shadows of what might be,
dancing, and preying on our hopes.
I give all of myself away at first, the begin taking back little bits;
it's an indiscernible process, so that when I'm gone in the end, what has really been lost?
It reduces us both in some indefinable way that seems almost negligible.
Then the aggregate sum of reductions begins to take its toll.
Can you see the past in my eyes? Do you see glimpses of the pieces
I've bestowed, then retracted? Do you even feel the loss?
Maybe I do because I'm the one who's diminished.

Exercises in efficient contouring: getting rid of the dross is good
and introspection is highly over-rated.

I Wonder

I read your email and smile,
wondering if this is the start of something
worth getting breathless about.
There have been so many fits and starts,
misplaced hopes, disappointed dreams.
Will we make it past the place where I
start to feel caged, and begin looking for
excuses and ways to extricate myself.

How much of myself do I want to share,
knowing that I may come to regret whispered
disclosures and confidences.
How near will you get before I start getting
nervous and inaccessible?
Is it possible to let someone get close enough
to hold my heart without us both getting bruised?

Epiphany

El amor no es amor hasta que viene de DIOS.


Love is not love til it comes from God.

Sweetest Breath

The sweetest breath that I ever drew
came at that finite moment when passion
considered me its embodiment-a moment with you,
a suspension of self in a sweet burning fashion.

A place somewhere between holding and
releasing, wanting to forever stay
at the precipice in this every-man’s land.
The hard wear of love, a game I try to play.

I experienced that most sought after of sensations
that prolongs its arrival, then bursts within.
An arch, the shudder of love’s machinations,
that dance in the night: my occasional sin.

And then I dreamed of finite existence
and woke once again, at your insistence.

Heat

Fluid, like liquid,
warm and silky:
Immersed,
I become the heat.

A Journey of the Mind

I open the cover and my finger brushes the page-a dry caress.
The paper bends slightly as I turn it and continue the trip into a new existence.
It will last as long as I keep turning the page, and even beyond that.
Flights of fancy, booked with anticipation
of a new discovery, a new thrill, a new love.
Words direct the journey down the road
they've not taken, but know just the same.
I seek each combination of letters and sounds-
meanings possessing more dimension than I'll ever fathom.
Words drive me, carry me over the threshold of the here and now.
Can the myriad combinations of sound and shape create vehicles for
understanding, for soothing, for exciting, for change?
I ride the words as one might ride a staid horse or a bucking bronco or a prancing pony, or even a stubborn mule.
Around the ring with grace and finesse, around the track at breakneck speed, through the furrows, pulling and prodding: which gait will come next, as my fingers turn the page?
Rein me in, drive me on-direct my next move as I wait for the word.

Stuck in the Moment

Silver washes over my eyes,
as I try to see through
the same spun gold lies.
Red flows molten,
then hardens to black.
I refuse to look forward,
and can't look back.

I'm stuck in that moment.
How do I get out?

Looking

Honesty, intelligence, confidence, loyalty, acceptance:
these are all characteristics I find attractive in a man.
I'm looking for someone with whom I can have a love
filled with laughter, faith, passion, desire, learning,
compassion, trust, and hope.
If you can make my heart dance and my body sing,
I'm all yours.

Not Big Enough

Pictures are worth a thousand words--
what are words worth?
They don't wrap completely around the truth,
and each perception is subjective.
What one word can mean the same thing
to each person?
Love?
No-that's an especially nebulous term for
all manner of evils we perpetrate on each other.
It's not big enough to hold all the worlds in our hands...
The worlds that come into this one, each with their own orbit
and measurable span of life.
All we can do is hope that their intent is salve enough to
cover our mistakes and magnify our good intentions.

If, Then

If you want to sleep in my bed, you have to sit on my porch first.
If you want to kiss my lips, you have to first hold my hand.
If you want to call me your novia, first call me your amiga.

Then ask what you want, and I will give it to you.