Delirium

In relentless pursuit of
              more
I throw my arms wide
and will the world to soak into me,
to bleed through the flimsy barrier of my skin
and fill me with electricity and soft glowing joy.
I embrace the waves as they fold into me,
and I bend from the force of their impact
and become both less and more,
in that moment.

I have the urge to
vow to live a more deliberate life.
But I'm not always good at remembering to keep promises...
They lose their grip on me,
slip from my focus.
I live in this moment,
this moment fills my vision from horizon to horizon.

Penny for Your Thoughts...

I like the thought
that you might be reading this
I like imagining your reactions -
you smile at that one,
and smirk at another;
you wonder if I'm talking to you,
about you...
You like to think I am, sometimes;
other times you hope I'm not,
the fear shatters through you in a flash -
you crush that image under your size 12 and turn away.
You read another,
something that doesn't pluck at the darkness
crouched at the edge of your floodlight.
You wonder what it's like
to be in my head
(in my bed).
You don't know that I would be gentle,
that I would let you take the lead -
that I would whimper with need for you
and worship you
with reverence and passion.
Have you ever been loved like that?
You want it all,
but not enough.

Duality

Feeling a bit like a mermaid...
I lie on my back,
stretching the soreness out of overworked muscles.
I raise my bare legs
to press my lower back flatter against the floor,
and the curves of my calves are a tail,
my toes, the perfect tailfin...
I wiggle them,
giggle.

My inversion causes the hem of my skirt
to slip higher up my thighs,
and I make a half-hearted attempt
to tug it back to an appropriate position.
I drift in my thoughts,
imagining the water surging around me,
my hair floating,
my tail propelling me upward,
toward the light.
I breathe out slowly,
then right myself.
I see the stack of sea shells,
and half-smile.
Mermaids wear seashells, I think,
and slide them into my hand,
coolly clicking against each other
as they drop into my bag.

Lay, Lady Lay...

The one line, toward the beginning...
gives me a little smirk of smugness,
with an aftertaste of sympathy.
I think of how it would be to have such limited options -
could be the partner, or her own anatomy, I suppose.
But I am grateful to be able to land an orgasm
from any angle and without much fuss.

And then he says -
dressed me up in women's clothes
messed around with gender roles,
and I smile, maybe bite my bottom lip a little.
I see you in one of my green dresses -
you do a little twirl,
or a mocking curtsy,
but the look on your face -
you're kind of glowing,
kind of shy,
kind of in awe of this moment -
you feel seen for the first time,
and I feel a surge of love for the raw realness of you,
finally able to be fully expressed.

Musings for Muses

I itch for freedom
these days.
Not freedom from this wonderful
(supportive, sexy, sweet, stolid)
partner of mine;
not freedom from the giant beloved puppies my sons are;
just...a bit of blank canvas time.
A window of open road.
Lessening of expectations -
not lower ones, just fewer of them.
So...
maybe this is something I could build for myself?
I could claim Thursday nights, perhaps.
Thursdays after work I would just evaporate into mist and be alone somewhere or with a friend somewhere or on a motorcycle (if I get my license) or at the gym for a long long time or having a beer or writing -
wait!
I got it!
I could go for a walk on the trail
and then I could sit in the bar
and eat a sandwich
and have a beer
and write and write and finish that elusive
ephemeral
exhausted
little novel of mine.
I could do that.
I should.
Thursdays are good days
for a little dollop of freedom,
just a short walk from my love-filled, adored home.
Yes.
This.
Now to find the courage to do it.

Oceans Apart

I am driftwood
an empty bottle
tossed about on the currents.
For now, I float along in the sunshine;
but I remember the swirling vortex
of millions of gallons of salty water
pressing me down to the dark, sandy floor.
I remember you
sailing above me
a god -
out of reach,
out of breath,
out of time...
You didn't save me.
I saved myself.
And maybe I
                      will climb onto the warm
wooden boards of your deck and lie there,
panting
while the blue sky pours warmth back into my body.

Adjustments

You adjusted yourself in your chair
in a way that reminded me of
that time I gave my therapist a boner.
I'm not accusing you of the same,
(but I might be salivating a little at the possibility).

I was giving my therapist
an example
of one of the times
I struggled to say no -
I was telling him
about the man I met at a bar
the man who introduced himself
with a picture of his cock on his phone.
I licked the screen and handed it back -
smiling at him with shock at myself;
he laughed and ate it up,
and then
we spent the evening
accepting each other's dares,
and ended up
skimming the surface of a fuck
in the bathroom.
Not my classiest move
but he was that irresistable
(a beautiful bear of a man).
I was just trying to describe the mechanics of this situation
to illustrate
for my therapist
that I hadn't really said no very well,
but that I had really tried.
(I can hear myself saying things that sounded like polite excuses -
I can't, I really shouldn't, I have other commitments... My voice dampened by the layers of bar sounds on a Saturday night
But his smile was beaming too bright
to let his ears hear.)
With the therapist, I was sure;
with you...
you were probably just in need of a standard adjustment,
but still...
I liked seeing you shift your position
ever-so-slightly
because...
what if...?
What if
you had felt
just the smallest rush of blood,
the slightest change in tempo,
how delicious that would be
for me...

Negotiations

Just one kiss?

He leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead.

She smiled and shook her head.

More.

He almost smiled back, 

then kissed the tip of her nose.

Moooore…

She leaned slightly closer to him 

and turned her face up.

They locked eyes for a mile-long second 

and he bent to meet her.

The kiss itself was brief, 

lips barely brushing lips 

before he took a full step back 

and folded his arms across his chest.

Her eyes shone with the thrill of it, 

her fingers went to her lips 

to marvel at the sensation still lingering there.

She smiled a crooked little smile of satisfaction and delight, 

and let out a whisper of a moan.

His eyes grew darker 

and he stepped back, 

turning away.

Enough.

Not yet...

She pressed her face against his back, 

arms encircling his waist and chest.

He stiffened at the first touch, 

but as she held on, gently, 

their heartbeats synced up and filled the silence of the room.

He slowly shifted 

so her embrace fit inside his. 

He rested his cheek on the top of her head 

and wrapped his arms so fully around her 

that a thumb rested on the outer curve of her breast.

She burrowed into the embrace for long, sweet moments, 

then pressed her lips to his collarbone, 

once, 

twice…

following a path up through the scratchy part of his neck 

and through the thicket of beard, 

pausing just before reaching his lips. 

Pausing to feel his heartbeat hitch, 

pausing to smell his skin, 

pausing to read him. 

He dipped to breach the chasm of millimeters separating them 

and kissed her fully this time – 

a resigned, but smiling sigh 

muted as their mouths crushed together.

Rough Ride

The machine growls and purrs beneath me

so heavy

so solid.

I giggle as it lurches forward

pleased at my ability to control the beastly thing.

It rumbles along, doing exactly what I say,

following my gaze wherever I point it.

This beast is mine

but not quite tamed.

It listens too well,

but I don't have all the commands.

We take bites out of each other

and retreat to lick our wounds.

Ship/Wrecked

For now,
I have a reprieve
from the sea sickness caused
by my own feelings -
they are the waves
crashing against the sides
of my matchstick vessel,
tossing me about on the blue-grey expanse.
I am keeping my eyes on the horizon
and keeping you at arm's length.
I am nothing to you,
I am nothing to you,
I am nothing to you...
This, I repeat with each list of the hull -
I am nothing to you,
to the starboard,
I am nothing to you,
to port side...
Eyes locked on the line
where the ocean meets the sky.
I pace my breathing,
keeping myself steady,
keeping my heart
carefully tucked away,
out of reach of your charm.
The only way
to avoid disappointment
is to want nothing from you.
And give as little as possible.
Eyes on the horizon.
Steady breathing.

Addendum -

Perhaps a better mantra would be
You are nothing to me.
Let's give that one a shot.

Shifting Sands

Keeping you
at arm's length
is the greatest feat of strength
I've yet achieved.
My shoulders shake,
my skin weeps
with exertion.
My mind is a dark
and shrunken place -
I've closed all the doors
that lead to you,
leaving me
nowhere
to point my thoughts.

Keeping My Distance

You are poison
disguised as confection.
I must expel you
from all the places
I'd allowed you to saturate.
Traces of you linger,
haunting me
with reminders of the joy
you used to engender.
Now, your forced overtures
spark a wince of pain,
and I recoil from your falsity.

Major Flashback

94 was a rough year for me
but also a good one -
one man broke my heart
another my hymen.

In 94 I was obsessed with kiwis.
It would be another decade before I became obsessed with a Kiwi.

Spot On

Rain
drops down -
polka dots on my polka dots.

Licking Old Wounds

So this is a tough one...

I was looking through old emails and stumbled across this submission I made to Lick magazine (a brilliant little undertaking by a talented blogger in my circle, back in the glory days).

The premise was that you could send in anything you wanted, anonymously - contributions were limited to women, I think.

This confession breaks my heart for the girl I was then, although it only scratches the surface of the pain I lived with. I remember writing it and feeling wary of discovery. I worded it carefully so that I wouldn't hurt his feelings if he happened to read it. But distance and wisdom allow me to see that this is another way in which I just didn't stand up for myself and speak my No's loudly enough.


Date: Fri, 8 Apr 2005 15:01:49 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Lick Magazine

Sometimes when we're making love, I hate you. I want to push you off, I want to cry. What can feel so incredible when I want it, feels like torture when I don't.

And you don't listen to me. I have told you what not to do. A thousand times, at least. But you still do those things because YOU like them. It makes me feel like a blow up doll, a life-sized sex toy, instead of the wife you say you love. I send very plain signals, but you choose to ignore them, because you can. You have been able to get away with pleading ignorance if I bring it up. But I know that you can tell the difference between the moans and screams of a woman in blissful torment and the hate filled sounds of one in pure torment.

I don't want to risk upsetting the delicate balance of our life, so I keep quiet. But please, for god's sake, if you're out there and somehow through cosmic intervention you get this message--pay attention to my eyes, my breathing and don't continue to be selfish by ignoring these signs. And know that I only hate you sometimes.

Battlefield

Love is possession
                  ownership;
love is you are mine.
Love is pain...
       uncertainty-fear-longing.
Love is I am yours forever.
Love isn't a choice -
it is an avalanche.
Love is a waterfall pounding you into my soul,
crushing my chest and filling my lungs -
I gasp and fight and try to survive you.

Vivid / Vernal

The sky is full and rolling with grays;

the earth is lush with new life, 

shades of green licking up all that wet air.

Soon there will be deep blue skies 

and blossoms of pinks and yellows,

with a sun that bakes and steams.

So I will savor the coolness of these gray days,
splashing through puddles,
breathing in the soil-scented mist.

Father Time

My son paced in the other room, on the line with his father. 

His calm, commanding voice brought comfort to us both as he offered tech support over speaker  for the elusive solution to the problem our son's newly built computer was having. 

I attempted to read a book as they moved through all the usual suspects. Eyes flickered across the page, landing on disjointed words and phrases, but eventually I gave up and closed the book, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. 

It was warm, familiar, familial... I wanted to nestle into the imagined Good Times of yore, but I liked the moment too much to slip into a memory. 

Miles Above

I sprinkled notes from Bitches Brew
in a crumb trail across the ocean....
That was...kaleidescopic?
Trippy...
The hush of a darkened cabin,
the loud quiet of the engines...
Almost comfortable,
almost asleep...
Thoughts suspended
in the sky of my mind,
like our bus full of humanity...

Old Friends

Your face fills my mind's eye
as I write these words -
the letters slide across the slim lines of your body -
muscle
bone
scars -
all the places my hands can't touch.
Your face
so deeply known to me,
is craggy now with the decades that have passed since
you were part of
the scenery of my life.
Time lays across you in sheets 
the stubble on your cheeks
draws my hand to your face.
I blink and we are 20 again,
blink again and the present sharpens into focus - joy, laughter, distance