( love )

What do I want my love to be?

Opening,

free as one can be

and

she

will open her arms to me,

singing,

praying to Earth’s wings to fly again.

How bright, my love,

how warm

your body feels

when your lips meet mine…

how slowly we can meet,

how gentle,

how soothing.

He will be all encompassing,

and yet aware of his smallness.

They will be sitting on a rock,

climbing down a tree,

living life fully,

beautifully,

listening as it all swims by…

I choose birds today—

listen,

listen my love

to this mastery of sound.

One day

we will sit on a beach,

and the wind will play with your hair,

and I will not care

about how long

or how come

or why now

because thank heavens

my heaven is here,

in my arms,

singing home,

bowing low

to Earth’s truth,

offering palms and songs

I have never heard.

Thank you, my love —

truly.

From this park bench

in the heart of Brooklyn

I don’t thank you for finding me;

I thank you for living.

Go on:

live.

 

May 16, 2019

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But

I called Allie and told her:

That’s it?”

Okay.

First kisses aren’t supposed to be good, right?

But can I think of kiss with a man that was “special”?

Some felt special…but I never understood why.

With her though…

I felt a hunger beyond thought,

beyond practice —

beyond expectation and protocol.

Do I feel that way with men?

Or is it more me practicing a movement,

an excitement, a momentum I’ve been taught?

The idea of being with her is more all encompassing

than I have felt for anyone else.

But I still know, deep in my soul,

that Adam Levine is hot as fire

and I would have been with Charlie in a heartbeat…

that it’s fun to dominate a guy,

and that I can do it well– ask them.

But am I aching for their touch?

Even with all those long term crushes?

I could play this game all day, comparing

gender

when I’m actually comparing

people

and there is not much more to it than that.

 

The soft skin — it’s real.

The emotional connection — it’s real.

Wanting to call you, she, they

baby…

that is something I know

I would never want to call a man,

even before my pink brain understood feminism,

before I had a reason to ask Charlie to a ball,

or chase Dan around a school yard.

It just feels more right —

and yet I have practiced this with men all of my life –

how many of us are there?

Chasing people we can never love around a globe, around a city.

It’s unfair to everyone involved, really.

Will I never be with a cis-man?

Of course not.

I have loved men before and I am sure I will again, statistically.

But…

 

To every bisexual who has every wondered if they were just gay or a lesbian…even when you’re confident in your identity.

 

October 12, 2019

Sun

You are a star in a sky I have not seen,

you are a drop of rain in a hundred deserts

and desserts

because walking in the rain can be fun

with ice cream and an umbrella, no?

Your voice plants bits of light under my skin,

your slender frame and well-styled hair

have me wanting more.

You are some kind of fire that speaks

the same language as my Earth– the one

with floating flowers and talking sponges,

the one where Reggie Rocket gets us in trouble

and girls kiss girls at midnight in brightly lit squares

and everything is alright.

Because I’d want to call you baby.

Because, hell yeah, I’d make love to you and I’d fuck you

but do you seriously think I could do one without the other?

You’ve got me smiling ear to ear, wanting more of your story,

your moments, your rush because I know you’ve felt it, too–

with some lucky woman in another room,

where you lit only candles and talked in only whispers.

I would never be quiet about you, unless you wanted me to.

And I can sing your praises now, my mysterious friend,

but you deserve more than words. They do not do you justice.

To your sexy eyes and smooth skin, your laugh bouncing off

subway cars and driveways and street lamps– I wish I could

dance along with it forever, and I’d be willing to,

if it meant having you.

I put you up on a pedestal because that’s where you belong.

Your style is bad ass and your humbleness is hot and your words

have me wanting more, more…because for all your physicality,

I could listen to you speak, no sight, no vision, for days.

You are a star and a sun

because, of course, there was never any difference.

Expect that there is only one sun,

among many stars,

and how lucky I am to get to soak you in at all.

 

January 29, 2019

Fallen

She’ll be perfect

for you– I know,

Jo invited me.

I’ll be standing next to you

but not close enough,

holding onto false hopes

but no real dreams, only “but’s.”

Your friend will be in the corner,

mine in California

remembering New York’s flaws

and I’ll say “fuck you”

because I’m from here–

don’t you forget that Mr. Delaware,

Ms. Los Angeles where I saw no evidence

of angels, no saving grave

and when I flew, I flew eastwards.

Breaking my heart gives you too much credit–

you can run my mind,

but my heart finds solace in other things–

all the women I haven’t kissed,

all the male exceptions.

Is she your exception? Another beautiful

brown woman and my white

Puerto Rican ass isn’t good enough?

You’re from Delaware.

You just want “different.”

But enough is–enough. She’ll be

enough, hang her hands over

your neck in public, at parties,

falling hard– while I look up

from the ground.

 

December 29, 2018