March 2, 2014
What was it about you that gripped me so tightly? Whatever it was, it will not let go. I feel as though I cannot see past what you are. What are you? I’m studying your landscape. I’m in the rapture of your blur. Like the midnight sky, just as the moon turns to a yellow lemon, drenched in honey, I too peek curiously over the world and search and search. Every night I go on a hunt and then sleep as the sun breaks the sky to reveal gold. I take what I could find and sleep with it until morning.
March 3, 2014
Your eyes are like lakes to me. Deep waters, icy surface. You are a fence, you have a door there. There’s nothing like the luminous light that floods from where the key goes every time you smile. And your laughter ripples the water and for that moment there is no ice. There is a warm mist, a hazy sky with a sun obscured by a few fluffy, cotton clouds shining against the deepest blue, a blue so warm, a blue dipped into the lake and dripping itself all over your eyes. I need to look away so fast because with one blink I’m ousted out of that paradise of yours. I need to tell my heart not to go swimming in your waters, not for fear of drowning, but for the fear I won’t be able to bask in it for more than a second.
Oh, I don’t wish for that ice to melt. You have so much, and you have the right to keep it all for yourself.
March 4, 2014
I held you in my mind. I carved a little space there for you. I held you so close I think I heard you sighing. I traced the constellation of freckles on your arms. I smothered my face over your beard. I felt the roughness on my cheeks as I held you closer to my body.
Wherever you are now, I hope someone holds you. I know your heart doesn’t belong to me. But at least let someone hold your fluttering heart in their hands warmly and carefully. I hope you are held. Your body relaxing against the warmness of it. May it be true, may it not be selfish.
What about me? I’m a wild thing right now. I only wish to be free. I long for a great lake, for a tiny waterfall I can call my own. I long for a moment of silence near the ocean so I can hear the song God sings to soothe the lonely. And in all this longing, this wild thing I’ve become, I have reserved a place for you in my mind and I even cleared the debris in my heart for you to be in. I nuzzle you every night and kiss you before I go to sleep.
‘I’m a wild thing’, I keep telling myself. Soothes this painful need to be with you.
March 5, 2014
I had a dream where I was in the shower and there were these huge, fluffy white clouds bumping the window. I opened it to try to touch them but I fell through. I was drenched and as I landed in the ocean I looked for something to grab. I woke up startled. The night was still roaming, and the moon was a waxing crescent, shyly opening her face to the sky. I held my chest and breathed out Archangel Chamuel as a prayer to help me. Can you believe how much I cried? I’m a sad broken thing, best you not see me. It’s best if I pour myself and this love in ink, on this paper. It’s best you watch from afar and wonder. It’s best that when you get too close, you do not see how rough my edges are. But you said I had a pretty smile. You said you wanted to get coffee. You held my hand momentarily and within that moment I felt what spring really means after a long winter to the cold, frozen ground.
March 6, 2014
I don’t care. I want your heart to myself. I want to be selfish and I want to steal you away. I want you to inhabit me as if I was your home. I want to be everything that comforts you. Isn’t that rich, coming from a wild, depressed thing? But here I am, clearing away the wild flowers and placing them in vases. I rather have a moment with you then see the grass grow so tall that it buries me. Let me see what’s underneath your surface. Let me climb into you like a canyon. I’ll fight the demons, I’d rip them apart and eat their entrails just to catch a glimpse of you as you really are. Why are they keeping you from the world? Why would they imprison a gorgeous thing like you?
The coffee tasted as good as your words. Little keys to your locked doors and I was there searching and searching. You left crumbs here and there and as hungry as I was I savored them with such a relish I caught you blushing. I don’t think you want me trapped in your hell and here I mistook it for paradise. Still you’re no damsel in distress. We’re more alike than I’d like to admit.
I sharpen the weapons and keep them in my heart. Will I have the pleasure to plunge myself in you and rescue what’s left of your person?
March 7, 2014
Love makes us a pulpit. The materials to build it offer a monument to the names we wish to carry until our deaths. Some people will place their fleshy lover on a pedestal. Watching and waiting for a sign. They awe when the lover smiles, they cry when the lover cries, but when the lover turns to medusa, hair snaking her nakedness, pythons piercing the lovers flesh and poisoning the sweetness, then they throw stones, they yell to kill the thing, it is no longer lovable.
I offer you nothing to stand on, or stand in. I recognize your country, and your heart as the sun within you. I long to climb in and find you. My knives are sharp enough to pierce those demons that terrorize you. They have convinced you that you are no longer human. But have they met me? A wild, wild thing unafraid of their taunts. I know them, I had them fester within me, and I know how to kill because of them. You kissed my cheeks and I saw a flash of what could be. Your sadness isn’t like mine. You are terrorized by them. Your gaze isn’t a frozen lake, it is what keeps them from surfacing.
March 10, 2014
Everything has an end. Rilke once wrote, “Somewhere the flower of farewell is blooming. Endlessly it yields its pollen, which we breathe. Even in the breeze of this beginning hour we breathe farewell”.
I felt death yesterday in the afternoon standing so close. The warmth of finality is as tempting as your warm hands squeezing mine. Or maybe I’m misinterpreting, maybe I’m looking at it all wrong. I should look away as we unfurl into a bloom. Watching the petals break free of its own embrace is beautiful. But the eyes of a human, prone to finding solace in the dark, can distort the embrace, make it into a prison and breaking free in the dawning light seen as freedom when even as the flower closes, it is never burdened, it’s never a prison but a cradle for perpetual life.
April 15, 2014
I woke up craving you this morning. I want the taste of your lips, the salty taste of your neck, and the warmth of your arms. There’s always the defeat of the senses when too close. We never really appreciate it, do we? We devour each other into pieces, in the aftermath we pack it all up again and drink the wine as if nothing happened. Nonchalantly, gathering the news of the world, relaying our thoughts but our flesh still simmers, or is it just me? Am I taking you in too much? I brought the weapons but your demons are tamed lap dogs, sleeping in the corners of your soul. Here I am, taking you in again, taking your world and colliding and breaking through only to find you’ve taken time to clear away the mess of being. You see mine and you say, “honey, the sky is too blue today, can we just look at it instead?”. I know I should settle in the world and not sever myself as another in it but darling, how are we to move forward, when all that is us can be waiting in the dark ready to kill us just as we begin to feel peace?
June 17, 2014
Every day the sun rises. We never complain about the huge fireball looming so far and yet in the summer it gets too close to whisper, ‘oooooooohhhh’. I shiver in the warmth of the 4pm sun. I walked in the park after work today taking time to note the dogs playing catch with their person, the kids running after the ice-cream lady ringing her bell, pushing her cart, and seeing as the sun trickled through the green leaves softly swaying as a slight breeze rushed through. I thought about what you said as you held me close, you whispered nothing important, but the way you said it made me shiver. The warmth of your body, the electricity of your thoughts, and the scent of ourselves lingering in the air. I have become important to you. I know that. I’m part of your routine. I just wanted to note, how beautiful that is. But my heart is breaking somewhat. I’m overthinking aren’t I, when I say this: I am now a fixture in your life, furniture almost? So, as I write this, the moon wanes slowly, and I’m now contemplating love against the routine of life. How much weight am I putting on your existence? You are my sun, and I am somehow just a resting place like your bed? Isn’t it funny darling, that it’s what I wanted- to be your resting place. But I’m finding that’s not enough for me. I am still very alive, still very wild.
December 21, 2014
I haven’t said everything I wanted to say to you. The pen moves on without me as the thoughts climb over themselves, tumbling through my eyes as tears. The frustration of wanting to paint what the heart feels can be ardently felt and yet the hand will not do what it’s told. The electricity of the feelings zig zag like lightning and unable to contain it in a brush the strokes of color does not do justice. The pen cannot do either and yet my mouth cannot form the words. I massage the lotion on your arms before bed, I make dinner every other night as we agreed, and in these small gestures I hope to convey what I cannot in words. Is this why we have gifts? Here is a piece of jewelry- the value of my emotion, here is this thing I bought because I cannot say what I want to say. Here it is the feeling, trickling as the warmth of my every intention. I place the letters in a box and I keep them to myself. Still afraid that you do not feel the same. But honey, you do. Everything you do feels as though you invent the world just so it can fit into my moods, all the colors you brighten or dim, all the sounds you filter or rush them onto my skin to my liking, adjusting to my sighs and moans. You do right by me and I do right by you.
I’ll leave a note inside the box, and lead you on a scavenger hunt someday. If I go first, you can forever have my thoughts of you in your hands. I don’t want to go first, but if that happens don’t follow me so fast. Miss me a little, and then pour your love onto your palms and let it flow into the ground. But you do that now too. You are a generous, wonderful, loving man.
And here I end it, as you walk into the room looking for that sweater. You want to go for a run before the sun sets, even though the snow is still a few feet high. I’m going to scold you, but you’ll smile that beautiful smile. A warm bath will be waiting for you, and I’ll be in it.