Being inside of you
arouses my creative impulse
why do I neglect this ingress
and its ecstasy?

I love blueberries.  I love the groves
of almond trees
you see as you drive up to
Sacramento.
I love anchovies and
raw broccoli.
I love Spanish wine and the feel of
your tongue when I am
down between your legs.
I love Jacques Brel, and the piles of peaches
that appear in stores late
in the spring.  I love gin and tonic, Alexander
Calder’s
mobiles, and the
early novels of
Philip Roth. I love laying in
bed with you
looking at
pictures of
Greece.
I love smoked salmon,
especially on a bagel toasted
with a little bit of butter.
I love lemon drops,
Frank Sinatra, and e.e.
cummings.
I love the smell of
eucalyptus trees and those
long,
flat
strips of
bark
that
peel
off
their
trunks
like
paper.

“Oh, what a wonderful wedding,”
Croons my best friend from across the table
“Yes, what a wonderful wedding,”
Swoons her worst enemy, agreeing,
Then, in unison strains, they both nod, decisive,
“Oh, yes, but what a shame,”
I blink, intrigued by the news ‘bout to break,
All whilst stabbing a fork at cake.
“The pure bride in white is a *****.”
They say, voices cacophonic and melodic,
“Her husband isn’t the one,
The one she hasn’t met yet,”
I sit between them, innocent,
Now utterly unengaged to the conversation,
Eating fondant; confounded; I don’t even know
Who the pure ***** bride in white is

Yes
I am the A
And that’s okay
I’m not too young to know
My sexuality
You know

I'm different because i like colors other than white.
I'm different because i like the weirdest things from joyous, laughter and bright.
I'm different because i love you.
You're different because you love me
We're different because we're not like the rest.
I"m different for seeing your weird point of views that no one else can see.
I am just different for being who i am without caring for judgement.
Different.

The aching burn in the stretch of my lung
pulsing Panama ***.
However furious you loved me much
youth is still a blinding hand; gilded blush.
Bring you closer, in my head-
“Older than your age” he said, he said.
As true as I see growth so near
man of ***** and beard and broken sky
still nibbles, longingly, at my ear.
Every tooth I smile, weak and kind,
begs me not to die another time.
Frees me from a waking mind,
breathing fantasies of cheeks, flush like wine
and to have you between the sweat of thigh
part my lips, grace my hips, part the red sea; dry.
By tomorrow I'll be prim as the birch moon we loved by
don't remind me darling, darling mine.

She often dreams of him
Or Him? Or even…. her?
Large hands, a soft mouth
Enveloping completely.

But
When the dream ends
And you are rudely, abruptly awakened:
Nothing is left
But silence.

Body is thy art for centuries.
Body is thy art from form and bone, to flesh and blood.
Body is thy art for the private genitals of ****** function.
Body is thy art to own a kiss of each lip.
Body is thy art...
Each connecting bone, head to toe...body is thy art.
Our vocal cords that tighten as we speak...body is thy art.
Body is thy art because of it's natural form unknown to human yet known to soul as our eyes meet each stranger.
Body is thy art when we touch and connect.
We are art.
Sexuality is not an embarrassment, because body is thy art that we share everywhere.
Every ****** made from touch and *******, body is thy art throughout all humanity.