Ode to Joy

I love you 
Broken violin string
symphony suffering
melancholy melody,
A minor catastrophe,

Swan-song singing.

Baby, 
I love you 
too much to play devil
with your discord,
when I know you can easily turn 
it into harmony.

The Act of “Love” Making

Baby,
when Mommy and Daddy
kiss
don’t cover your eyes.

Watch Mommy rest her head against Daddy’s chest
as you stumble across the backyard.

Watch our fingers link 
as you fly down the slide.

Let me kiss your curls
and let him kiss your toes.

He’ll rock you to sleep
and I’ll lay you down,
before we fall together again,
waltzing to the sound of your breathing.

And every time he tells me, “We did good.”
And every time I reply, “Too good.”
Know that now this is how we say, 
“I love you.”

Know that the act of making
“love”
is not complete
until you are holding Love
in your arms.

Until Love’s cry is your alarm.
Until Love’s laugh
finds you swearing on your knees
you’ll never cause Love harm,
and whoever does,
won’t have knees to swear on.

Know that any display of affection
in your presence
is our way of paying penance
to your tangible essence—-

Know it’s okay to hold the one you love
in your arms lying across the grass in the park,
to kiss one another in the midst of cooking dinner,
and not just in the dark.

Know both boys and girls deserve love 
and you should never be afraid to show
your make-up.

Baby,
when Mommy and Daddy are fifty,
kissing in the street,
I have a feeling I’ll hear you say “thank you”
while others make faces.
I have a feeling you’ll be smiling and finally understand:
“That’s how Mommy and Daddy made me.”

Coffee Shop Thoughts

Come to me in the after light.
In the silence after the sun slinks
into sleep somewhere beyond the clouds.
I crave to hear the loud.

I want to know you in the pre glow.
When we are blanketed by darkness
in a bed of thieves who steal hearts and don’t want for money.
Kiss me like you need my company.

I want you like dawn wants to caress these grounds
and night wants to pillage our secrets.

I want you,
both lit 
and shadowed,
touched by morning,
bedded by dusk,
nothing more;
nothing less.

“God, save the Queen”

Thank you
for not finding me attractive.

Thank you 
for not liking me back.

Because honestly,
that is the greatest gift
I have gotten within this past year.

It is Christmas in July,
and like every “holiday”
your used-to-be presence fills my head.

This isn’t my letter of apology,
because I’m not sorry for what I said,
how I felt.
and if you,
or her
suffered from it.
Sometimes
you just gotta deal
with what’s in print,
and take what you will from it.

But tonight,
I don’t wanna say I need you.
I would just really appreciate 
if I could talk to you.
If you could look at me,
if some guy could
and not objectify
or wanna be the one
who captures my virginity.

I need someone
to tell me
that my passion is
more becoming
than the amount of clothes on my skin,
or the way that my lipstick perfectly
lines my lips.
I need you to be the one,
to tell me that waiting is not stupid,
that I have every right to hold on,
and that this one
and the next one
and the next one aren’t right.

I don’t need your approval,
but I’d appreciate it.
I’d appreciate if you could
scare the shit
out of him.
If you could play your role
of big brother
just to make sure
I’m not agreeing to anything
because it’s easier to give in.

I need to talk to somebody
who’s more interested in the 
words coming out of my lips
rather than kissing them.
I need someone who’ll ask me questions
because they’re actually interested
in more than just skin.

Mad props to Elizabeth for marrying
her country instead of a king;
this is why
it’s “God save the Queen”
not sack her.

Because in the end,
it’s matter of saving,
and don’t think 
pushing 
or bending will
mean it’s fixed.
It’s not broken,
just rather sealed. 
This what I like to call
“virgin appeal”.

Because to love 
is to respect
and not to inject.
If and when
I’m ready
(aka: married).

The truth comes to down to this:
I never questioned your intent,
because I knew you always respected me.
Just right now,
I could real use your support,
before I lose sight of why this one thing
holds so much meaning.

This Won’t Work

I’m tired of playing
tug of war
with the sexual tension
that clouds us like
a barricade made from smoke.

Tell me,
if all you wanna do is
fuck me,
and don’t wrap it up
in pretty little packages
so it becomes “making love” to me,
and you know my answer is “no”
if you know I’ll constantly push your hands down,
tell me why
and what we are still playing.

Tell me if that fantasy
is even worth chasing.

Tell me if you’re so pent up,
and you confuse sex for love,
or if you just want the heat of some
body—

Tell me
if all you wanna do is
fuck me,
the least you can do is
say it bluntly,
and not call my name,
after you let me go.

You Make It Hard to Live “Presently”

And if we were
to just stop
for a moment
and take in the present
would call living surviving
or treat it like a gift,
confuse it for thriving?

Because right now,
I’m out of my head
without control. 
I have no idea 
what I’m waiting for,
or even if there will be
an answer.
I have no idea
what any of the future holds
or who.

That is my greatest concern.

Realize that
this entering
and not staying 
in my life is new.
That usually we are texting
after making out in
parking lots after dark
and not making hungry eyes at each other
or snide remarks,
and part of me is wondering
if you want me to kiss you again,
or how soon?

Professionalism
is a synonym for 
protocol
which ruins everything.

And maybe the fact that
there are
no strings is what makes this fun.
If we were just two people
kissing against a flickering screen,
craving touch.
And maybe 
I should let you go
before I begin to hold on.

But I need to know.

Tell me what role
I was facilitated to fill.
And if that’s not the case…
tell me if you want more.