Letters

I will love you like the fish that loves water. I will love you like the water that loves the shore. I will love you like the shore that loves the wave. I will love you like the wave that loves foot prints. I will love you even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. I will love you like the water that spills over and is drawn toward an important document. I will love you like the smudge that loves ink. I will love you like that human eye squinting to read the smudge. I will love you like the paper that holds secrets and is hidden for safekeeping. I will love you like the precious ear ring that drops to a drain and sends its wearer scavenging in horror. I will love you like the taxi that loves the muddy splash of water. I will love you like an iceberg loves a ship. I will love you like a band aid that slips into pie. I will love you with the innocence of fire that will ravage everything in its sight. I will love you like a pervert who possesses his stash of underpants. I will love you like crows love murder. I will love you like justice that stays calm when everything goes wrong. 

I might have said, “Come on over here and love me” when drunk, am stark raving sober now and I say “come on over here and love me”

I want to give you the kind of pleasure that will render you helpless, how intoxicating it is be at the receiving end of this torrential desire…your body is magnificent. A temple, they say…and am ready to pray.

Your eyes, those dark hollows they pull me in and I dive right through forgetting to come up for air. Those dark irises are perfect companion to your bronze skin, the dark tumble of your hair. I love your mouth, plum, breaking in to a contagious rapture of laughter. Your nose haughty and bold, poised to look down on somebody.

Your neck, taut, angular, muscular, smooth and oh so serious. I love how your collar bones make hallows and respond to the calling and the graze of an encircling thumb.

I love your hands. The elegant fan of your fingers,  squared claws. The veins of strength they hold you as you hold me. To have your palms sweep through the thick of my hair, grip, clench and tug. To have your fingers comb through the untamed wild of my locks.

I will paint your shoulder blades with my tongue, linger at the curve, and kiss the spread of your forehead, cup your face in my palms. let me stay right where we are. Move nothing, not a muscle. Not a moment. There is no shame in our stillness.

Letters

You, my dearest you… I love the romance of you, this psychedelic inebriation, your ambiguous nature, I love your stoic firmness, I love the fleeting tune that runs through my head when I see you.  I smile at how you are reticent when am forward. How the mention of my need to rest on your shoulder is met with quiet open arms or how you say the most staggering things with utmost careless elegance…

I love how straightforward it is – to love who you are without needing to possess you.

What I have here is not needy, it will not beg at your door for scraps of time or attention. It will not need to be fed to live, it is not desperate, pleading…its patient, its quiet, it keeps itself occupied with everything else.

My love is not sad, morose. It will not waste away in morbidness or what may come of a future…it is always a bit drunk, intoxicated.  Its simple, easy to understand, nothing complex here. I could sit with you and stare into emptiness with utmost faith that something beautiful may come of it…my love for you is bold to take your hand to my cheek and let it rest against my palm, but not so brazen to lick chocolate sauce off your fingers…

My love is gentle and knows the language of silence, it will leave you to your days of solitude…I will learn to read your lips and say nothing in response to the quiet.

My love, my dear one is shameless…when asked “who is this to you? What do you share?” I will answer “my beloved, I am a lover, I share my mind, my thoughts, my heart, my skin, my bed, my time on earth”

And anyway, it’s none of your business.

Of course

it is strange how one can adore you, almost casual...as if, 

to hold you in my arms were simply a matter of course.

too natural to mention. 

and sometimes

if you are lucky, you will find a man who will ruin your lipstick and not your mascara. 

I forget your name and simply refer to you as “mine”

Your lips are stuck in my head, what an uncanny place to be stuck in. can you move to the right a little please, your lips are blocking my words…they don’t flow the way they used to. My tongue is twisted and contorted to fit in perfectly with yours, I no longer know where my lips begin and yours end, my ribs long to fit in the concaves that separate yours, my scars and bruises long to be molded into yours, making patterns, drawing topographies, mapping your body to mine…beautiful designs don’t just happen and I wonder if our world was mapped on scars. 

and on somedays

all I want to do is
curiously count the scares on your body
kiss you long enough to memorize the shape of your tongue
quietly climb on the curve of your back
and count your vertebrae
your ribs
your fingers
your goosebumps
learn your body language
and simply want you, this quiet hunger...

you see how that first spark has grown
brighter...bolder

claws

when I think of the good men I have known
who have
dissolved
vanished
over trivialities

I pour myself another drink and bet on a poem.