Wednesday, October 07, 2015

small stories

“Go to your bosom; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know” Measure for Measure Act 2, Scene 2, lines 36-37 artwork by Jhenai Mootz
I came alone.
the first time, since.
I came alone. today,
the first time
since we were
we, and from my corner
I watched,
us, side by side,
legs touching, and ankles entwined
telling each the small stories,
telling the small stories that
made up our days.
and then offering
little bits of ourselves,
to each other.
sometimes slowly,
the little
bits of ourselves,
removing a brick,
maybe two, from the walls.
a brick, maybe two
from the walls we had built,
and for a time, putting them down,
entwining our stories,
the small stories that made up our days.
Sun fills the doorway, fills
the doorway,
and I see you,
I see you walk in, the sun
off of those sunglasses
you wore.
I look from your eyes
to your smile
and I tell you my small stories,
the small stories that make up
my day,
the ones left unfinished
the new job, and now,
you tell me your stories, your
small stories, once again
entwining our stories,
our stories
once again.
Sun fills the doorway
the doorway that's empty, and
a brick, maybe two, still
wait on the floor, the space
they once held in my life,
the space,
they once held,
still lies open.
Sun fills the doorway
the doorway that's empty, and
a brick, maybe two, remain
on the floor
I hold my small stories
in one hand, lie the stories
one hand that lies open, a hand
that lies open as I
walk out the door.

Ode to a Man on a Honda

Ode to a Man on a Honda

Shall we dance?
just you and I?
take a ride to our horizon’s end…

shall I wrap my thighs
round yours?
your leather hips -
lean into you
as black ribboned road’s vibrations
consume us -
combine me with
your heat.

can I close my eyes -
and feel your lashing hair
my cheeks,
my eyes
into my mouth?
will it taste
of you?
of road-and-wind-and-sweat.

myself, machine and man -
wide open to the sky
as we blister sunny fields of flowers
their faces turned in awe.

chrome keeps flashing
sunlight briefly
while rubber treaded miles are
into asphalt,
with our blended beads
of sweat
as we race