conversations in the kitchen

you

with your earthy focus
ask me (daily)
why i do not
use my beautiful voice
or make use of the
dance i have longed
to perfect
to express my feelings

i twist a strand
of hair around my fingers
and tell you (daily)
that I am thirty-four going on six
and I need to get this
off my chest before i do

you

with your inexhaustable urgency
ask me if i think
i'm going to live forever

don't be daft, i tell you
that is why god gave me
the hips and legs of
an eternal sixteen year old
and a voice that grows
more rich with age

he knew i was going to be
slightly delayed

for transience

one does not have to be direct to be honest or real. some of the most direct people i know hide much and lie plenty. you're plenty talented and plenty realistic. rock on haremgirl.

dear camera shy

i peek through my right hand.

spring cleaning

as he fell off his pedestal, i heard a tiny "thunk". it was really rather an anti-climax. absolutely no rosy glow afterwards.

folk tales and other interesting tidbits

like all good folk tales, each time the story is told it is a little different.

how wonderful, then, to embellish the details slightly or leave out certain parts of the tale on any given day; as old men did around campfires in an ancient Swaziland. as twigs crackled in the dwindling tangerine light, these men would not have believed that one day such tales would appear via wireless technology.

but if they'd shared this information, no doubt a gasp would have escaped the lips of their listeners as they wondered: "what sort of alchemy is this?" because it's easy to make people believe what we want them to...when we're telling stories.

like bits of indigo-dyed cloth given as a brides price our reward is a wide-eyed audience eager to hear the next installment of our journey, the next train ride into memory or helicopter flip into a much-hoped for future.

but i would be alarmed if three years on i was still telling the same tales. repeating the same understandings, treading the same murky water, or bouncing on the extent of my own mind. so let's not do that.

i love all of you who comment here. you are all individuals with good solid minds of your own, but able to reach and stretch and think outside the box and that is huge...HUGE in this life. you are my favorite kinds of people. for those who visit every day but remain silent, i would love to meet you, so please say hello next time you pass this way. i often wonder who you are.

i will, probably continue to use this space as a way to express what otherwise would remain deeply hidden. it's my way of processing my feelings. the trick here is moving on, not staying stuck in an endless stream of words, where i say the same thing in a million novel ways . if i'm still writing this way in 6 months time...stop me.

yummyness

these memories smell like cinnamon.

tiger

or lily? it really depends on who you are.

untitled

tonight a visit to you-topia leaves me breathless and tingling. how warm you are.

immovable

your name is a mountain. i would travel it in circles and crescents, if that would move you.

it's ok

to color outside the lines. i wish you fun and joy with your crayons. and hope you use lots of purple. it really is a fabulous color.

truth

i complete me

but i wouldn't mind sitting on your lap, with my head on your shoulder hearing you read poetry. i wouldn't mind a bit.

short stories

i do believe that we have re-written the whole story. sure, we argued over the editing for a while, but in the end we just created an ending that suited our unique fears. you wanted a story that flowed and swelled into something whole. i wanted it to feel and look more fragmented, the way life really is sometimes. rather commercial for two such maverick souls don't you think? i've never known two people more in love and yet so afraid. i think we should talk.

memory

there's a little bit of you here in in the lines of my body. i feel you on misty mornings and star scattered nights. i swing my thighs over yours and we do not need any more.

favorite fantasy

lips eyes skin heat
you lust moan pout
lick take give need
hair sweat tongue slide

d o n t

e v e r

s t o p

its all in

the pudding you see.

she walked away

taking her ribbons and scuffed suitcase with her. leaving behind ghosts of the past and the pitter patter of tiny heartprints.

big brain

1) i run an anti-virus program on my computer (Y/N)

2) i use condoms when i have sex with people whose HIV or other STD status is unknown (Y/N)

foreplay

how to get more booty part 1:

lesson 1: women are not men.

sure, men aren't women either, but well fuck, it's the mating dance isn't it? ask any horny lion if he has to at least roll around a bit, protect the harem or mess with a few other lone males before he gets the pussy so to speak.

the truth is, whether you like it or not, that us girls like a bit of the flashy stuff before we give it up. i personally, am quite demanding that way.

p.s. i know when you're faking it.

clean hands

dear A

i am fascinated by the way in which you have distanced yourself from any emotional responsibility for what has happened between us. i always had the feeling that Pontius Pilate must have had trouble sleeping. perhaps by making the choice to not be accountable he assured himself of a good nights rest - at least according to the evidence you place before me.

i'm screwed if i know. i might never have slept again, if i was him.

dear pillow

i held onto you like my life depended on it that night. tear stained and crumpled you were. thank god, you rolled with the punches.

obscure reference

i close my eyes so that i can't see you or place my palms over them, just so, but sometimes, late at night
i peek

no more of this

for you

and you

and you

and, especially, you.

but you...i like you. you don't keep taking.

*none of you fine folks of course*