Old Patterns

Why is it that the men most available to me are usually those who are the least available? Girlfriends are always there. Girlfriends I've met, and whose company I enjoy.

Why are they the ones who kiss me in the cab and follow me to my door? Even when I ask, "Do you have to go home?" the implicit meaning being, "Shouldn't you go home to your girlfriend, who is no doubt expecting you?" And of course, his answer is, "It's up to you." Well, no, it really isn't. I have no obligations in this situation. Well, I do. My obligation is to say, "I don't think this is a good idea. Perhaps you should go home to your girlfriend." But I don't. Why? Because I like the attention. Even moreso because it is coming from an unobtainable man. I don't do it on purpose. But I see the look in their eye, the spark of sexual attraction. So I let it go as far as it can. I tell myself, "This is just how men are." Ugh. What a crock. This is how shit men are.

Still, he came to his senses. To my relief.

I had unlocked my front door. The reality staring him in the face.

"I shouldn't do this," he says. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand."

"I'm sorry," he repeats between kissing my mouth. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand."

I really do. I'd rather you go. This isn't what I pictured for this night. This isn't what I want, either. To be the seductress, again. The temptation. I'm not even wearing makeup. I'm wearing dirty clothes. How does this happen? When I was unlocking the door, all I could think was, where are the condoms? Will this be sloppy? Will I even enjoy it? These aren't the kind of doubts that preface a good decision.

I walk in the door alone. Into the darkness. I don't even turn to see him walk down the stairs. Just go and be gone. It was fun making out. See you around. Hope it isn't awkward. I hope next time you go home with your girlfriend. Or do I?

homesick

Being back in New York feels strange. I hesitate to use the term "home" now when I refer to it. I no longer know where that place is that home is supposed to be.

No, I know where it is. But it is not a place where I can pack up and move to. It is only a place where I can be. In your arms, my head nestled against your chest, hair bristling against my cheek. Our limbs entwined, our skin glowing red and melting into each other. Your kisses peppering my salty forehead and cheeks and nose and ears. You and I in our nakedness, pressing as near together as we could, and still you whispered "I can't get close enough to you."

And here I am, far away from you, sitting alone in my large empty bed. In the darkness of early morning, alone. The sounds outside my window seem so harsh and foreign and unrelenting. The sense of ease I felt with you lingers in my memories and yet here I am. Restless. Longing. Homesick.

I miss you already.

encounter #2

Ah,

I see you glancing,

Out of the corner of your eye.

You
are
filling someone else's
space
while your eyes,
your eyes
trace my contours

Up, down,
up, down.

I see you.

I'm watching as well.

Chambers

The moon is full tonight and my eyes sparkle with silent tears. I am waiting on a platform with other fools for a train headed the wrong way. This is the moment I am always waiting for. Neon lights flicker overhead. It is humid and dirt gathers with perspiration on my cheeks and forehead. My ears are ringing with graveyard songs. I hide in the open from blind eyes. Sweat gathers in the hollows beneath my eyelids. The odor of old garbage mingles with that of moist bodies and frustration. I am waiting to go home to a place that doesn't exist and never did. I am covered in the dust of so many unburied bones. We are all lost, we are all searching. Our only purpose is to keep moving. I miss the constellations, my guardians. The stars only emerge in my dreams anymore. I think I'm dying.

Swooning Swans Swept Away on the Seas

My eyes were the size of the skies.

Green and clean and mirrors of mine so we see,

I slipped through the floor in a gold and white fold.

Silhouettes of sea sounds

flitted forth from your face,

and your smile drew dunes 'cross sunned skin.

The size of my eyes was too wide,

and your gaze fell away from my play.

Still, from my sill, in the sumptuous rain,

the green of my dream swayed and danced until dawn.

The next day on my way from the train,

I cast free from my thought,

the illusion of fusion of minds.

I dared my desires desert me,

cast away such fantastical flights.

A day or two spent, and I willfully went,

but dared not hope perchance we might pass.

When the day's work was done,

to a bed of brown eyes I spoke of vast skies,

revelations and astral designs.

But in those bulbs of dark brown,

not a glimpse to be found,

of that glimmering green of the sand and the sea.

No sooner had passed this desire so dreaded,

than I did dismiss it as folly.

No sooner dismissed,

through the window I glimpsed

your figure, passing in stride.

Shocked as I was, no matter,

because... my willful unwilling had won.

Let me will you away,

so I meet you some day,

when all that remains are the memory stains,

of those eyes, emerald stars,

swallowed up by the sands of my dreams.