became simpler

the more I stared

into the ardor

of his gaze.


                            God bless


the strings that entangled

our hands into holding.

May they last



                                                forever­
.

There’s a before
                                                     then an after

                 and the in-betweens

      which is all that really matters
  after the beginning~and the ending

we’re born,                                    and we die

                   highs
have a few
                                  a whole lot of
                                                           lows

  but nothing means not a ******* thing
  if you know what I mean, you know?

I promised I wouldn't pitch a fit,
but that was young me, and see,
experiences since then, well,
do you know how hard it is
to find love as a *******?

Somehow, I bet not.
I bet not, somehow.

I promised I'd do what I wanted,
and I have done, and I do,
experiences since then, well,
they've left me longing for you,
longing for touches, eager to please.

I keep my ***** part of me,
as that's what I want.
I keep wishing that someone will
love that part of me.

I'm flaw to the flawless, baby.

Lesbians don't want this.
Gay men don't want it.
Straight women don't want this.
Straight men don't want it.

Somehow, I bet not.
I bet not, somehow.

And tomorrow I might die in hellfire   (where are you?)
dropped from the air or shot from the ocean,    (kiss me.)
I might be a corpse in another war,    (where are you?)
big future fame for the sideline casualty.

Kiss my lips and let me know
my pulse is visible to you.

the girl who never had it all felt numb every sunday evening
because another week had passed and she still wasn’t living
a clockwork routine of staccato
detached from reality
the build up is beautiful
but when you only give half of your heart the ****** is just another week gone
a monday meltdown of never finding your place
touch starvation

after C. Sandberg

It's hard to know you now.
Classic sadness, wide open.
Words beneath driftwood
flayed on top of cornflower blue

Ocean.

Remember I was afraid
it might never be love
But now it scares me that
Love is all it is.

Do you see me
as conquered or had.
Here's how I see you.
Imagine how ants see.
They won't know what
stairs, bridges, and ledges
are for. Everything valleys
low or high, endless surfaces.
Sprawled and
likely untreadable

Ocean.

I'm not making promises anymore.
Not accepting tiny requests at the moment.
This happened because somebody
taught me how to lament the limits
of love. I thought the pleasure I got
from sit-ins with you was pure.
I looked at you through ****** sizzle,
sometimes outright panic. You seemed
a candidate for *******, and also
precious. But why not more.
What is wrong with me.
Why do I make you wear costumes
like extractee, validator, jezebel?

Why not more.

How did I learn
this love. A love like licking the ooze
dripping down the decanter instead of
cleaning it?

So I need some time. I've flown wrongly.
I thought wingspan was all it took; ******
lift, drag made it go.
Let me learn how to choose you,
how to Look at this man as man again.