and still I have to stop and think, is it forwards, backwards, and do they know about Daylight Savings TIme, saving who from what,
I jokingly ask myself, to give my sweet angst, a a better coloration,
though these days, constant comets pass over us daily

but he is savvy smart, and yes, extraordinarily ****, and  knows my routines (he thinks), better than me, so when I drive  to  run in Santa Monica, alternating days, he texts in simultaneous harmony a minute after my too early alarm has me stumbling into semi-Cali-
quake-fulness

we are years apart, not so many that it's remarkable, just big enough gap, to make life problematical; his  career launched, serious guy,, me well, i'm a perpetual student, when not modeling, and my mom, GBH,  and my over pestering, now single parent, demonstrate her mathematical abilities by telling me how closehow close  is 30 is when one subtracts  my "aging pores," & how little sleep she gets because she in in her EST zone

but when he calls, he calls at irregular times, "to better gauge my mood," how he, my day surveils, so he can adjust to my chemical imbalance, an area of his expertise; and its sweet, and it works, and too often, I ramble while listens, for his day is ending, and mine is far from fulfillment

he is European, full of genteel words and english language quips,
especially since he believes he can still sway with his sophisticated
endearments;  but what he doesn't know in the late afternoon, his bedtime, while  he is conducting a sweet nothing roundup of   adoration, my hand slips between my legs, and my envisioning of his lean, broad body being in my interior so tight, for I have crossed my crushing legs behind his back pushing him inside, it nearly makes  breathing impossible

HE LOVES MY SOfT TONES, at this hour, my distracted noises, til he says you sound so tired, I'll let you go; and I willingly, comp-licitly, give him my heated best love notes, and teary gasps, when I mumble
see you soon, thinking in my dreams, for I know his schedule, and exactly when I'll be landing and exactly how long it will be,
till we, are within each other, without any interference, of lairs and
sun flaring interruptions,
from time
and space, those scientific laws of this tiring
annus horribilis

this shall be:

this shall be
my last poem of the year,
two thousand and thirteen,
with the muses' permission.

a fitting one as well,
for the words,
come easy,
like so many did this
annus mirabilis, year of wonders.

firm I believe,
words are living tools,
constantly being reshaped,
fitted to the occasion.  

care must me taken,
words hurt when wasted, abused,
or used in contravention to the creator's
intentioned purpose of intended good.

so when a brother, a poet-man
hits the nailhead, words writ,
encapsulating an emo shared,
this reserves, a poem-celebration!

lines between humans unseen,
somehow too easy, rightly crossed,
guards dropped, secrets exposure,
with the ease of feeling no discomfiture.

yes, this is the Internet age,
sharing revelations often cheapened,
boundaries collapse,
when no consideration given.

when there is no skin, no eye-glance
real-exchanged, no feeling, no voice,
casual, to do, easy to say,
what is the risk,
what could be the casualty
of this causality?

the risk is fearsome.

so when the venture is for the better,
what matter the absence of the physicality,
the tears and hugs imagined
as good as any non-virtual,
but in the coming year,
this I swear:

I will be, I will be becoming, I will become you,
unto you, for as was written, so shall it be,
for as was written, it will become,
a beautiful first, a first re-union,
that will be.

this notion so pleasing,
yet inherent contradictory,
aye, there's the rub,
a first re-union of the unmet,
to mark this three hundred and sixty fifth day,
the creator bequeathed me these prayer words
most easily, most faithfully,
as a blessing for all of us.


Dec. 31, 2013
3:54 pm.
NYC

It was only a matter of time
Until the clock runs zero
We've had happy times
But we have also had somber times
Now it is time to prepare the casket
But this is not a time to grieve
This is a time to celebrate the memories we have made
They might be gone
But as long as they are not forgotten
then they will never truly die
memento mori, unus annus

"Fēlīx in the return of light
in the novus annus"

© 2022 Carol Natasha Diviney

Reditus
In Luce Tua
Novus Annus
Videmus Lucem

© 2024 Carol Natasha Diviney, Ph.D.

MMXXIV
Beginnings and passages
Two faces
Forward to the future ianua

© 2023 Carol Natasha Diviney

Felix Annus Novus

© 2023 Carol Natasha Diviney