How Adam felt

Strange to know how Adam must've felt when he found out that Eve had more knowledge than him. Must have been a bit disconcerting to cast niave eyes her way and feel that she, even for those moments he hesistated to bite, might know everything better than he did. If I brought you the apple, would you bite it? Would you even know what it represented if I held it aloft in my palm, cupped it to your cheek, would you even part your stubborn lips to recieve it?

I am not sure you could stomach its truths now. I have been trying to feed them to you all this while. I know in the end, like Eve, I'll be blamed for this inserruciton. Probably I should have stayed mute and just let myself alone be cast out of this imaginary Eden, but you have to know, that once I tasted that truth it was worth sharing. It was the only thing then that would keep us together. Even if we were in exile, at least we would have had our heartbeats to keep us company.

But no, you have trouble seeing reason, don't want to do anything but shake off the load of what I'm trying to tell you. If ignorance is bliss, then you'd rather play the fool skipping merrily off the edge, loot in lips; than come to the heriphant's temple and learn of secrets and myth made truth. You think I seek to trap you, to ferry you away all on my own. But that apple taught me, one can never tame a wild thing, the only thing that binds it to another is love.

So I have bled my heart to the last drop at your feet, and still you want to play clever games. Invoking memories so long past, even I have trouble remembering them. Is that supposed to woo me back into complacency in your arms for another night? I can't go back now, I have eaten that fruit and it gave me eyes to see, it gave me courage to speak. Don't you see? This garden is a cage filled with gorgeous snakes and plumed birds sent to distract you my love. It's a mirage that you seem to think is more real than the apple I am tempting you to nibble at. I am trying to set you free one bite at a time.

The Bends

I had thought on it, all day and into the early evening. Why was it bothering me so much that you should spend your countless hours with him, and seem to revel in my absence, but when I asked for you by my side it was counted out only in the hour. As it that would met sastisfaction to my soul. I found it out, traced the rat scent back to its source, you denied me comfort. Saying only strangley that it was only I you ever wanted for. That it was only my love for which you thristed.

But pray my sweet, spare me the half truths. You don't even sense your deciet, so rich it runs. Let me spell it out for you plainly. You have a problem with priorities. You have an infatuation with romance in the star crossed sense. Let me put it to you plainly, you are not interested in lasting love, if in in lasting love you cannot commit. You are interested in quick bonds, and tumble weed friendships. Each new friend you aquire is not unlike the last, you pour yourself heart and soul into the connection until the ground brakes under your fragile feet giving way to landslide. Wanting to achieve what it takes others lifetimes to emcompass you file away every secret, every heartfelt truth, and you bare all, sending countless hours to capivate their attention; to arrest it; to possess it as if for all eternity.

Silly girl, gentle debutant, don't you know, the one whom bears wilted corsage for your innermost self has been waiting all these wiles. You give yourself away, doting on conncetions that are superficial and prone to misgivings and falling outs. All the while, I steadfast cling to your love. But for what? Another week surrendered to your independence or mine. And all the while you loose sight of me. Your love, your future wife, the mother of your children, the spinster that will tend your grave faithful. Have you no favor bodily or otherwise to spend in my direction no longer? Have I lost my luster for the gleam of distance jewels? Do I not posses the right parts to keep your affections near my heart? Can you speak on it but a little?

Lady love, I beseech thee, give me reason to stay and I will chain my heart to yours gladly as always. If you want for depth of friendship, for a bond unwavering, for kinship such should never fall to questioning, look no futher than my gaze. You pour your affections into bonds ill spent, they do not love you as I do. They do not long to know your spirit as I do, but hunger only selfishly, hanging themselves upon your pride and virtue. I was ill spent but to tell you thus, I love you so much that I hunger for more after every kiss rather than flee. I have run in the past, but always returned to your side. Ever your sire, I pray you will be reminded of the tokens of my love.

You seek to drive me out to jealously's end. I warrent it not. My lady truth, please, hear me: if you should want for companionship that never waivers let me be thy enternal friend and lover. If there was ever a more deserving soul for this favor, let their name be known now. But if you bid me farewell, then say it loudly, so that my half graced ears might hear you clearly and hanging my head, retreat into the darkness whence I came.

Orange Peel Sonnet

Carve a crater cradle in my moonbeam skin,
let me write you an orange peel sonnet.
You'll notice after the first taste,
it's not quite ripe.

The pale green tinge
kissing your palm
is screaming confessions.
But your eyes are not
tuned to the pitch
of any other protest
but your own.
They will go unreconciled.

Be still my sweet,
let me braid my pulse
into your Desdemona curls.
That chestnut sea could never be tamed
by calloused fingers
bearing ribbons and lace.
I was a fool to think
that my love
might have ever tamed it either.

Only thing you seem to find
consistantly beguiling
about me is my prose.
So I wrote you out
word for word
until every letter of the
alphabet had first blushed
then grimmaced
after too much use to
praise your name
above any other.

You're as intemperate
as your planetary ruler.
Venus vain.
You are
too flickle to belong
to just one admirer
only.

Can't thrive without
the adulation of multiple heartbeats
vying for your name
Primma Donna
Throw your roses to those you fancy most today
then wave them scarlet in the others' faces
till they turns chartroise with displeasure.

Goad the bull
until it stampedes
snorting and pawing.
You always did like it best broken
must be a touch of the theater in your blood.

I am no Ferdinand
No gentle crown of daises for your
head
I have only
varas and banderillas
for you now.
Finish what you've started
my head hangs low
my horns filed down to dull points,
go ahead
run me through with flare
and poorly timed melodrama.

Don't quicksilver tongue
the wound
it's not meant for spit shine
and polish
only meant for rot.

You won't find more sweet for you in
the iron gracing my viens tonight
Dear muse,
you casked your wine too tight
now raisined
it is only sharp
like vinegar
and sour
like my disposition.

Forty Six 03.30.10

For most of my life I have been worried raw with hurry sickness. A cancerous growth, this impatience spread through my blood and into all my vital organs. But you left my side and I have blossomed into a kind of reckoning with time. I have come to see that the future is not something I should hurtle towards on jackrabbit feet. But rather, I should make each moment mine and savor its beauty. I am learning now more than ever that the words of my witch doctor ring true, the future is not something that should loom over me with uncertainty, it should bloom on the horizon as the sweetest of sunrises staining my eyes with its blush.

My witch doctor has been teaching me so many valuable skills, how to listen, when to speak, how to capitalize on my time and throw off the weighty bonds of anxiety. For these reasons, she gave her blessing to our tortoise and hare romance. In the beginning we were all flash and blinding sparkle, burning like a pillar of fire. We raged and stormed like thunderclaps and lightening bolts mating in the air which sizzled with the hum of static. We sought shelter from the violent tremors which shook the earth in each others arms and fled to the safety of a dry but darkened cave. Once a hovel home, it became a prison, because the only animals that would draw near to the cave were the rabbits of worry and speed. Chasing after them, they represented our hopes and dreams and with clutching fingers we grasped for each one as they slipped from our outstretched hands and into the gloom of the cave.

Receding, I snatched them up in the dark, using only my baser instincts and wrung their necks like crackling dish towels in my frightened hands. I needed to feed us, because I felt as though we were starving, but I didn't know yet what for. Each night we sat alone together in this catacomb of isolated love, you growing more silent and withdrawn and I growing more impatient with the hunger pangs of my now wan and feeble form. I wanted with everything in me for change, but I had grown convinced there wasn't a way out of this cave and through the storm to safety and tranquility. The wind howled through the opening to the cave which we had shrunk from, but life beckoned you to the light outside.

You slipped from my grasp one night as we lay sleeping on the cold sands and disappeared at the sunlight's first breaking. When I woke I was frightened, terror ripping through me like it must have each time my fingers wound around those rabbits' hammering pulse. You were gone, and without you I saw the naked sunlight pour through the yawning mouth of this cave of despair and pessimism. It stung my eyes and I cried for weeks. But I found I grew rapidly claustrophobic in its mouth and like a fish breaks free of fishing line I snapped the last of my bounds and slowly crawled out into the world.

I learned to hunt and forage for myself, and grew strong. I shed the anxieties of my past like the winter coat off a grizzled bear. I learned a taste for any meat other than rabbits. I sampled the fine feathered thighs of wild pheasant and tucked their tail feathers into my hair. I marveled at the variety of ways frogs and toads could be cooked up in all the stages of their metamorphosis: from tadpoles like meaty guppies, to knobby kneed adults strewn across my spitfire, to caviar like eggs housing black specks which wriggled with potential. Moths and butterflies became garnishes for my dandelion and wildflower salads, their wings coating everything in fine rainbow shimmer of their wings. Their antennae were always becoming stuck in my teeth after sampling the delicate chalk like flavors of their brilliant markings.

Around my neck I bore the skull of a felled vulture, I had killed it one day when I was curious for the taste of a fellow predator. It was a challenge to catch it, it took long hours and patience. This was not a scrambling chase after march hares and nimble footed dwarfs I had become used to. I had to exercise all my cunning, hone all my instincts, and bait this precious bone collector to come to its doom. It fed me on its wrinkled sagging skin wrapped form for 3 days. I bleached the bones in the sun and when I had punched a hole through it's skull and drained it of its putrid carrion obsessed mind, I made a necklace of its skeleton. I threw its macabre and lustful stomach into the frying pan and swallowed every last feather to prove I would never choke on the bones of white feathered rabbits again.

Now I hungered for sport with more gameness. I salivated for that all life had to offer, away from caves and warrens buried deep underground. I was a seasoned hunter, a strong solitary being, but I stumbled into the midst of a strange tribe one day. At first I only observed them, they were wondrous to my eyes and twitching ears. The sounds they made, the way they moved their bodies, all revealed the things they kept inside their minds like a cascade of hurricane winds waiting to be unleashed at any moment.

I slipped from the tree line made of my shyness and approached a few of them. Grasping hands and looking into their eyes I said it as plainly as I could without the utterance, "convert me," I pleaded. They taught me their ways, and I began to see, I was one of them. I had always been one of them, but now I learned the calls and snaps of their language. I grew to don myself in the beads of precious knowledge they divested on me. I became versed in the symbols of their warpaint and smeared it on my face. Their prayers and invocations revealed each layer of mythos to my hungry mind, they were each of them a storyteller, each of them a shaman to their own muse gods. Slowly I was becoming more like one of them, and my vulture skull tapped my chest with its pointed beak each time we danced around the bonfire together late into the night.


They never ate rabbits, but they wore their feet and ears upon their clothing sometimes and twitched their noses in mock indignation at the overwrought spirit of the beast. I still would hop and stammer my feet upon the ground from time to time, still detoxing from the effects of so much fur and not enough scales and feathers. They saw to it to lure me away from the damp smell of clinging root filled ceilings just by singing me the sweet songs of their native tongue: poetry. I was infected with it, each day filled with the lines of their genius circulating my in head. It brought me inspiration and my mind blossomed with it. I was becoming civilized, indoctrinated, learning the sound of my own voice. Imagine the shock that ran through me on the day that I should stumble upon you while I was looking for somewhere quiet in the forest to practice my singing voice.

You came to me, like a person approaches a wild animal, slowly and speaking in soothing tones. I did not run or bolt, but rather stood my ground. Still I sniffed warily, because I thought I could smell the scent of love coming off you like perfume. Was this my twitching nose lying to me through the wishful thinking of a poet's mind or were you really touching me lightly, smoothing my brow, and inviting me to visit the caravan of zingaras you had run off with? I followed, curious to see what tribe you now belonged to, but never forsaking my own I donned my finest feathers and smeared my warpaint heavy on my skin.

The bonfires within your circled wagons were large and roaring, much like those of my tribe. But the flame pits we jump carry with them the scent of driftwood, blood, and cedar smoke. Our guttering torches mysteriously mark the entrance to our temples. You must enter wearing bones or teeth upon your naked flesh. You must disrobe and carry only feathers in your heart and painted eyes before your brethren before you can speak the invocation of twisted tongues to call forth Gods and conjure spirits. Only this way can you hope to possess others with the elements we summon. Our tribes ways are no set of esoteric secrets, but they must be learned with an open and willing heart.

And so it was that I wandered with my hand in yours into the midst of the group of vagabonds you had been traveling with. Your band of bohemian brothers and sisters did not channel ghosts but they read the bones that hung around my neck. They traced the lines upon my palms and foretold of new adventures that would come to fill my days in the future as they stared at me through the flickering light of your camp. Your gypsy camp fires and twinkling lanterns blazed with the smells of pine needles, mulled wine, and strange herbs I could not name by heart but knew I recognized from far off times. The group of rogues and wenches you called cousin danced in wheeling circles that were familial to my tribes pagan two steps.

And at least, with legs shaking from our laughter, we sat round the fire and we broke our bread together. I had brought a sack of meats to offer when I first arrived, and before I set to dance and mirth with your kin I set up a large pot and filled it with my ingredients and water from the spring nearby your encampment. For hours it had simmered slowly, over the glowing coals. And your troupe of bards and verbal acrobats swayed closely, sniffing with puzzled nostrils that flared and twitched in a way that made me laugh out loud over the sheer irony of it. Strange smells for your friends, but I saw them lip their lips eyes glistening over the aromas they would soon sample sliding down their throats. And so we sat at last and I filled cracked wooden bowls and tin cups with the hearty mixture.

I watched your eyes look warily as the ladle dipped out of view into my steaming pot and drawing it out deposited its magical elixir into a waiting bowl for your inspection. No doubt, you must have started, expecting to see the main course of our cave dwelling times together. But I stretched out my hands to you to offer you the new fair of my current days. Back then I had filled our stomachs with the sickening taste of too much rabbit stew. But now I turned to watch you sample the first spoonful of the light and subtle flavors of my turtle soup. The flavors woke your palate and your eyes sparkled over the rim of the bowl as you licked the dregs free. Round the table the sounds of smacking lips and choked burps came free from your companions and I smiled warmly, feathers dancing above my ear in the breeze.

That night I fell asleep underneath your wagon. For I could not stand the comfort of a warm bed that wasn't made to smell richly of spilt ale and wood smoke as my hammock back at home with my tribe did. I tried at first in vain to sleep with you on the downy pad of hay and sheets that smelled of muslin, amber, and incense. But I soon rose, visions of tarot cards flashing through my eyes as I stumbled out the curved door of your wagon into the night air. It was balmy, sweat clung in unobtrusive pathways to my ivory skin and welcomed gentle breezes to come kissing at my collar bones and nipping at my nipples. I found a cool bed upon the grass beneath your wagon and listened as the wind sighed through its spoke rimmed wheels. The horses stamped and nickered and I fell into a listless kind of slumber.

When I dreamt, I saw us back in that cave, in a time when I could loved you better. A monster growled at the rear of the cramped tunnel but I did not quake with fear. My eyes shone at the back of the cave and using my fearless words I conjured the spirit of my poet ancestors. It lunged into the back of the cave and dragged the culprit out. At first, it looked like an innocent rabbit, but crouching closer I saw it for what it really was. Its black eyes oozed pools of wasted ink and an emaciated form bent each vertebrae crooked shooting from what should have been its spine through stretched tight skin. No fur graced its charcoal withered skin and its feet were anything but lucky. I shook my bones and stamped my feet at it, bellowing chants of my clan towards its cowering form. It shrunk fast as shooting stars to almost nothing but a pin prick. I grasped it up, watching it trying to snap at me wildly with its fearful jaws. My laughter rose as I took the strange beast my phobias had given birth to and gingerly I dropped it through the hole in my vulture skull to remain imprisoned forever.

I woke smiling as your hand graced my face, and heard my necklace rattle. Pressing my lips to yours, I pulled you down beneath your wagon and made love to you until we fell asleep entangled in each others arms again. This time, as I dreamt, I had visions of my future with you. You were a muse for my poet soul and with a full heart and painted skin that sparkled in the sunlight I walked sure to the beat of my rattle covered heart.

Forty Five 03.29.10

The recorded sounds of a thunderstorm crackle over speakers as a fine mist shines down upon the produce section at Safeway. You click up to me on black heels bearing ruffled edges. Instantly I understand why foot fetishists get hard for the cleavage between toes displayed in heels like yours. They look the way demi-bras let the puckered edges of nipples peak out to any voyeuristic eyes curious enough to wander to their charms. For as long as I can remember, I have always been a voyeur. I've never been one for flashy shows or exhibitionism. But these days, I have every reason to put myself on display.

My eyes scaled your flexed calves and crawled up your supple thighs into the grey pencil shirt that flared around your generously rounded ass. I was wet and wanting before my eyes even alighted to your breasts peeking from your black oxford. Your Wedjat sparkled and did its best to hide the purple blush of the chain of bite hickeys I left around the borders of your breasts the night before. My face stretched taut with a grin reserved for those who know all too well the way you shake and shudder when they fuck you.

It wasn't a mystery to you what was about to happen. This is how I lured you out of the house with me to begin with. First, with the promise of public sex which I know you love so well, and then the offer of a hand cooked meal I would later prepare for us. I can't tell you how many times we had been in this same Safeway when we first met and courted. Over all the long months and years we had been together, I had fantasized about fucking you in the grubby bathroom, but I never had the nerve before now.

You asked me earlier what changed in me to bring out the exhibitionist in me and bring me around to the other side of lust in public. I told you: You. But the answer was only a half truth. Later I expounded at your prompting that it was really also me that has changed. Having put so much work into overcoming my pervasive social anxiety as of late, I felt myself swell with the thought of showing you the desire I felt for you down to the very marrow of my bones. To show you in public was always what I had wanted to do, but never had I dared. Gone were the old worries of being caught and being reprimanded for it. All that I wanted now was to feel you tremble against me as I whispered words so dark and sweet into the helix of your ears it would make your head spin while I touched you, there.

Fingers mated between each others in a warm embrace, I led you knowingly to the bathroom. As we walked through the aisles, I saw the eyes of many men glide across your curves. Yes, I smirked, be jealous. The women were no better with indignant but curious stares. We made such an attractive couple and I found myself snarl. But I appeared to be smiling at those whose eyes I would catch first on you, then see them flit to me and start with confusion and fear. Yes, I smiled, be curious. Be upset that you just imagined us fucking like a dirty picture show in your mind they would have whooped your ass for watching in Sunday school. Be outraged that we would wear the sexuality we bear for each other out in the open, unabashed, shamelessly, rubbing your nose in it. A cartoon super villain's laugh roared in my skull as I tugged you closer to the bathroom nestled in a crummy hallway between the pharmacy and the butcher shop.

"How quaint," I mused as you tried for the door. Viagra, Vicoden, syringes and Sweet meats dripping with fresh blood were about to bookend our torrid acts of public wanting. We had to wait, for there was someone using it for a more natural purpose. As we did I thought about how all these people were going to be out here, shopping for groceries, checking off lists on crumbled paper or mentally scrawled on the backs of their eyelids. Life would go on, boring, ordinary, and banal while I would soon slip my tongue into your mouth and feel your teeth tugging at my bottom lip. Electricity shot along the back of my optic nerve and I felt my pupils dilate like twin eclipses mirroring each other.

A middle aged woman exited the bathroom, her eyes scanned first over you, then to me and she seemed shocked for the briefest of moments. That is, before her eyes wandered to the ground and glazed over, pushing away from us in a waddle I pitied because it bore testament to her aching joints. The click of your heels brought me about center as you pushed the door open in front of me. I lingered for a moment, watching your backside stretch the fabric of your pencil skirt around its form and the small of your back flatten into a deliciously curving bow. When we walked inside, the bathroom was just as I remembered it. Limp rags of transparent tissue lay strewn about the floor, the beige tiling on the floor and wall held so much grim and soil it looked as though someone mopped the floor with a bucket of swill. Love and sex in the time of Cholera indeed.

This shabby bathroom should have been repulsive to me but instead it was oddly romantic, because it meant, you could not touch a single thing for fear of being contaminated by waste. It meant the only thing you would be able to hold onto, the only way to keep from slipping to that scuffed stained floor was to cling to me, your harbor in this tempest of need. I moved towards you suddenly and wrapped my arm underneath your rib cage. Holding you to my chest, my breasts flattened against yours which swelled into my vision. Our lips tangled in a slippery exchange, our tongues enmeshed with the heat of each others mouths. My hand parted your thighs and squeezed upwards through the confines of your silken flesh which were held together by the trappings of your skirt.

You wore stockings and at first I found myself dismayed because I had told you to wear something that would give me easy access to your soaking cunt. But as my hand crawled further north, I felt the fresh heat of your naked skin and the moistening lace of your panties where you had torn a hole into the crotch of your stockings. "That's my girl" I felt my mind purr, as my hand sought the quickest way around the edge of the lace and jewels hugging your quivering snatch. I pulled the fabric away and felt the moist heat surge like a blast of steam when one walks into a tobacconist's humidifier. My fingers traced through your heated tangled curls, but soon they parted your wetness and found what I desperately wanted, your hardened clit. Straining against me in your heels, leaning into the staccato flick of my fingertips, you ground your cunt against me and wrapped your fingernails into my skin like little knife points.

You trembled you whole form sagging against me and I felt my cunt begin to drool in my jeans, the heat becoming distracting. I trailed ravenous kisses down your cleavage and then slid my tongue up your neck to your ear. Pressing my face into your downy ringlets I whispered to you how hard your clit was and how much your body shook in my arms. As I spoke to you, I revealed what I had thought earlier, how all those people in the store were outside just feet away shopping and completely unaware of how I was fucking you in this instant. You whimpered against me and I cooed a soothing "Shhhh..." to you before clamping my mouth upon yours again. You broke our kiss, clawing your nails into my arms, starting to buck and sway with buckling knees. Your clit was as hard as a ruby under my finger tip and I let the slippery pads of the tips of my fingers drive you mad with the orgasm that was suddenly threatening to break over you.

You clawed your leg up calve and thigh. I was standing on braced legs as I abused your clit and told you how I love it when you tremble. I told you I wanted you to come for me, and you insisted your were close. How close, I had no idea, as usually it takes a bit longer for you to come like this, especially standing up. But only an instant later your hips exploded in spasms, your form when limp and rigid in waves, heaving against me in a silent breathy explosion of gasps you almost dragged me down to the floor. I gathered you up and felt you spasm in my arms, your clit throbbing against my fingers as you came. You face contorted in a silent scream and your cheek slide down my collar bone going lax with your fading orgasm. You stilled and panted against me.

When I was sure you were steady, you wound your hands up to my shoulders and stepped away on heels that didn't miss a dime. You were as solid as you ever were. The whole exchange felt far too brief, and I found myself alternatively satisfied in a smug way that I could make you come so quickly, but also defiantly petulant that the moment did not last longer. No matter, there will plenty more adventures, we would soon discover. As we walked from the bathroom together, the blush of your freshly fucked glow kissed the apples of your cheeks. We sauntered out into the parking lot and I killed the fresh air with the smoke from my cigarette.

Forty Four 03.28.10

One night spent in your arms and I limp away on sore and shaky legs. My back bears scratches that have turned to brilliant tiger stripes. The sheer skin of my chest wears marks like an octopus kissed me with its fierce tentacled embrace. My skin is tattooed by your teeth.

On my knees last night, you brandished me like a proper SWITCH. I shook so hard my eyes rattled in their sockets. Muffled screams fade into strangled moans. You bring out the Catholic School girl in me, clinging to your kisses like plaid skirts used to cling to my thighs in my youth.

I get lost inside you, the slap I didn't see coming is a tender caress. That piercing glint off your dilated pupils tells me all I need to know: I'm Yours. Own me. Fix my neck with a collar made of hickeys. Pierce my tongue with a tag bearing your number.

I am your junkyard dog and you can beat me when I get out of line. I'll guard your spare tire empire and razor wire crow's nest on blistered paws and a limping gait. I promise not to bite your hands as long as you keep feeding me, fattening me up with sweet words that tickle my cerebrum like:

"You mark up so pretty for me."
"Harder."
"Scream for me, bitch."

Other people might recoil at your fierce nothings growled sweetly in my ears, but I understand the language you speak. Call me a cunt and I'll swoon all lovestruck. Wrap me in barbed wire and I'll write you love poems with the blood off my skin. I'd rather have you swallow me whole than give me a diamonds and posies. Leave me with marks I can display like branded cattle. Give me scars for souvenirs to attest to my nights spent in the knife thrower's tent.

One night spent in your arms and I stumble away, with the taste of blood embedded in my teeth. I move slowly for my backside burns still where you struck me with your fish tail hands. Pupils shrink to pencil point flecks when I realize these marks won't last. The most brutal words you gave me last night ring in my ears like tinnitus: "I love you, I want you, forever."

Forty Two 03.26.10

I am sitting in a small crowd watching Queer Open Mic night in San Francisco. With legs splayed comfortably, I sit on a folding metal chair and my right leg is bobbing up and down like a vibrator with ADHD. My hands are feeling a little slick, and it is making snapping at the other poets I see perform before me muffled and unsatisfying. It comes out like more of a soft pop and less of the loud crack I want it to be, punctuating the moments I feel their words the most. My heart is hammering inside my chest, hiccuping at my sternum and bouncing back off of it like a pin ball machine on tilt. I keep trying to breath deeply, I push my shoulders down and inhale into my core, feeling my body still as I exhale slowly and soundlessly.

I'm counting down the performances, because when they call Number 7, Morpheus, to the stage I will make my debut as a slam poet. I've been coming to these slams and open mics for almost 2 months now, I've been getting more and more hungry for the taste of the spotlight, for my chance to embrace my inner poet and let it loose upon the audience. I have been practicing and working so hard for this moment, writing non stop, honing my skills at editing, learning my voice and style, and then running those pieces through until my voice is raw and broken. The only obstacle now that stands in my way is my anxiety, my crippling stage fright that I want so badly to shed. I am trying to invoke the calm before the storm, it comes in short staccato pockets of peace, but nothing I can really hang onto for long.

Then I remember your words, they come sweetly drifting into my mind and I wish you were here to see me, to hear me, to know that every word I speak is about you. I remember you said that I should turn the nervousness into excitement and that I am a prophet meant to spread beauty, truth, and love. My face eases into a wistful smile and I feel my heart swell with pride. You should be here right now, bookending me with my devoted slam coach Lee, but you are elsewhere watching movies with your friends, or laughing so hard you shake, or maybe off in a bar somewhere. I wonder if you are thinking about me right now. I wonder if you are wishing you had come to see this, the way I am wishing you were here.

As the last performer finishes his song and looks up from his guitar he mentions with amazement that there are a whole lot more people there now then when we started. I crane my neck from my seat in the second row to see, that much to my amazement there are people standing in the back, crammed into the doorway like a school of herring shoved into a 5 gallon fish tank. I start to tremor a bit having seen this, but serendipity blesses me once again. The MCs call the feature poet, one of my FAVORITE of the slam poets I have seen thus far to the stage. My eyes shoot open with disbelief at my luck. Sam Sax, enters the room wearing a cherry yellow sweater and painted nylon yellow butterfly wings across his back. He walks smiling to the stage, his sideways cap and slow shuffle swagger displaying all his confidence. Dusty Rose, another poet I have come to know and appreciate, enters with him and takes a seat at the foot of the performance area. My eyes shine. Sam Sax goes up before my performance and suddenly I am FILLED to overflowing with excitement. I couldn't have planned this better if I had tried.

I am beaming in my seat as his rhythm and style carry me away, and I remember, I am one of his troupe. I AM a slam poet, and for him to grace the stage before me with his words and power is to literally litter some of his magic like fairy dust on the ground my feet will soon grace. One happy thought and I might just fucking fly. I feel my heart grow less startled with each piece, my body filled now with a jittery kind of excitement. My moment is about to break over me like a waterfall made of champagne and I grin lost in the moment and the imagery he evokes. I snap until my callus smarts and I punctuate the rhythm he sets with his flow by the sway of my body. He is electric. In my grandest dreams, I see myself ascending to the upper echelons of poets like Sam Sax, Jenn Genius, Kim Johnson, and Dusty Rose. He performs his last poem and I feel the aniexty tremor just below the surface of my skin. But I am on cloud nine after having heard what great poetry is comprised of and I shrug off the nervous energy. I want to hold onto this moment as long as I possibly can.

The MCs jump up to the front and prompt the audience to cheer for Sam Sax. It doesn't take much because the crowd loves him, and rightfully so. His poetry is a mix of rhythm, flair, and haunting beauty. He evokes so much with just a few simple words and the character he dons for his performances is one I never tire of. The crowd cheers him twice and I whistle emphatically. Then they still and Sarah calls "Morpheus" to the stage. I rise, feeling my body coil like a spring and I walk to the stage.

For the last three weeks straight I have seen countless poets struggle with the microphones. Knowing the stage fright I was going to have to combat already, I have been making mental notes on the inner workings of each kind of mic stand, so that when the time comes, it will be easy and fluid for me to adjust. I walk up to the stage, and slide my fist around the coupler like a wrench on a leaky faucet. It gives way, and I slide the mic down to a comfortable height. Twist of my wrist and the mic is in place. I lean into it and say casually, "sorry, I'm short." It's an endearing opening line and I smile at the crowd.

I stand straight and move the mic back from me a bit to the left explaining, "I'm going to back up from the mic, 'cause this is gonna get loud." People in the crowd are waiting with curious expressions as I continue to play with them. "Ok, how many of you out there know what the word Unctuous means?" I have been playing this moment over and over in my head to prepare before this night. But each time I never anticipated what would happen in this moment. I sound confident, even though inside I am shakey and unsure, the crowd does not look so imposing from here, but their attention has me balanced on the edge of a straight razor called tension. Hands bolt up all over the crowd and I find myself saying "Great, yell it out!" Answers come from around the room and I nodd, they are with me now, I can see them starting to engage.

The moment is all but mine, and I savor this, this is the last moment I will really be myself before the piece takes hold. "Right, so it's like greasy, it's like oily, it's like slick, it's SO WET. So that's the title of this piece. Unctuous." I look down at the paper in my left hand and take a breath. Then I begin. The piece roars out of me, its beginning loud, but not angry. It carries a forceful tone of confrontation, and I punctuate it with the nuances in my voice that I have been practicing now for a week. My left hand holds the piece like a teleprompter. I glance down at it from time to time to read what is written. But I stun myself, because I find I am acting out the piece with my body, my right hand gesticulating at just the right moments, and my face wearing every word like a costume. I look up at the crowd, engaging them more than I ever thought I would. Their faces tell me everything.

The sounds of cat calls, low whistles, gasps, and slack jaws fill the air as I summon the best of my piece. The crowd reacting is something I have only dreamed of. I smile wickedly to myself on the inside as I watch them squirm in their seats. Eyes fly open and disbelieving grins spread across their faces. I am in heaven. It is well through the piece when I glance down at my paper to look for the next line and I realize, my left hand is shaking. The paper stutters like a leaf caught in a breeze and I trip over a line, breaking it in half, but still managing to save it. The line slips out of my mouth like a fish through water and its smooth seductive delivery has Dusty Rose shouting out "Whhhaaaaaa-T?!" I wink at her, elated that she felt connected to the piece in this moment with me. The next line, earns an exuberant "SHIT!" from someone off stage left. I am on fire as I bring the piece to a close.

Near the end of the poem at a particularly poignant line, something falls over in the bookstore and a loud bang emanates. Ordinarily I might be frightened by this and freeze up, but I find its timing perfect and I point to the sound as if to say, "that is the sound!" After that, the poem ends softly and subtly. I sway closer to the microphone for its delivery because I want them to hear what is in my voice: longing and bittersweet nostalgia. After the line is delivered, I fold the piece over on itself and the air is thick with silence. I lean into the mic and returning to myself say a quiet but simple "Thanks," while my head does a little bob of a bow and I smirk smile to those around me. I walk back to my seat, but it feels more like floating and flop down into the chair.

The crowd goes wild with cheers and clapping. I am beaming from ear to ear, as Lee my trusted friend and slam coach squeezes me tightly in a bear hug. The female MC gets up to the mic to announce the next performer, fanning herself with her clipboard. "WOW! wow! I am totally overwhelmed, I need a minute! Wow, that was great! Thank you!" She smiles with an almost pained expression gracing her face, staring straight at me. I grin like a Chesire cat and nod. The male MC jumps from his seat, twisting in the air as he does so to find me, not knowing I am sitting kitty corner to his rear. He spots me, leans over pointing to me and screams over the audience, "YOU! You were AWESOME! You ROCK! THANK YOU!" And I laugh in disbelief at how exhilarating this moment has become. I say back "Oh Thank YOU!" and then crowd quiets down.

Some of my friends came to watch for support and they lean over the aisle to heckle me about pumping gas, a reference to a line in the poem where I pantomimed fucking a gas pump nozzle, and I smirk in spite of myself. I am still shaking, but I feel like I could run 40 miles and not even be winded. The rest of the night went something like a naughty poetry slam. The man up after me does a piece about being a Literary Masturbater, a piece he was inspired to pen after coming home from a poetry slam one night and being turned on. There are a few sporadic pieces and then Dusty Rose gets up and reads her poem about learning to feel ashamed of what your body does in a moment of passion, spurring her to swallow "thunderstorms and galaxies" from then on to spare others the shame. I am in heaven. I am loving every minute of this and riding high on the rush that all my hard work has paid off. I can finally call myself, a slam poet.

I glow with excitement and realize, you were there with me the whole time. As I read the piece, it was like an invocation to your heart. I wore the passion you stir within me like skin and through it they all saw how we mix like hard liquor and parched tongues. I would say that I miss you in this moment, but it wouldn't be true. I was missing your absence, but your spirit was with me and I felt it beam with pride and disbelief. I felt it impress its love and ardor all around me like a straight jacket around my heart. After the show was over, I went up and introduced myself to Sam Sax. He was the nicest, sweetest guy I could ever hope to meet. Unlike his stage persona which he wears like a costume. I introduced myself to Dusty Rose as well and was surprised to see she seemed suddenly nervous and awkward. She told me she loved my piece and my head swam. When I revealed to her it was my first time reading she jumped back in surprise. I had to explain, this was the first time I ever performed in front of anyone and she was so encouraging it felt like they were embracing me as one of them.

When I walked from the room to catch a smoke outside, I was still purring like a jungle cat in heat. I glanced to my right and I saw to my amazement, Jenn Genius, talking with a small group of other people. She recognized me and nod waved in her usual supine manner, like a large cat would wave at stupid drooling dog with its tail. I waved back, eyes twinkling and shot for the front door. Outside, Lee and I jumped around like idiots in our excitement and I chain smoked to quell my shaky hands. People walking by from inside sent me sweet little nods with nervous eyes, or they would stop and thank me for reading my piece. Suddenly, I knew what it felt like to be one of the slam poets I always shuffle up to after shows. They were just ordinary people, who have groomed extraordinary talents with skill. They weren't monoliths I should be afraid to approach. And in fact, there was every reason to, to tell them how their piece spoke to me, how much I enjoyed it. How alive it makes me feel to feel their words.


After the show we were invited to eat burgers with the MCs and anyone that wanted to join. We went with and people around the table complimented me on the strength of my piece. I modestly accepted their thanks, and someone asked me how long I have been doing this. Again, no one believed it was my first time. Another person asked us if I had more poetry. They asked me to read more in the burger joint, but the only other piece I had on me was Carrion. I was not about to read Carrion at a burger joint, it's too loud and I might scare someone invoking the big bad wolf in public. I told them to come to the Starry Plough next week. Because after that moment on stage when the crowd started clapping, I knew I had embraced my inner poet and my writer's heart. And I knew I was never going to look back. This was only the beginning and I felt alive, so alive, like my life really started in that moment. I couldn't wait until next Wednesday to slam at the competition for the first time. I couldn't wait for the rest of my life. And I couldn't wait, to share it all with you. I am hoping you'll come and see me perform sometime. I am hoping you'll be sitting there and I'll watch your eyes light up with sparkles like miniature displays of Christmas tree lights and fireworks mating on the backs of fireflies as I shine for you and all to see.

Forty Three 03.27.10 Subpoena to the Court of the Starry Plow

02.25.10

Right now,I am at a place called the Starry Plow and you would be in love with this place. The walls are filled to the rafters with a busy cram of colorful political posters, odd bar room kitsch,and a rusted plow hangs from the ceiling adorned with twinkle lights.

The smell of beer and malt vinegar fills my nose and as I look with appreciation at the Che Guevara flag suspended from the ceiling the beautifully strangled sounds of Jimmie Hendrix's guitar creeps into my ears. Instantly I am smiling. Beaming from EAR to EAR like a Cheshire cat. You are with me now, always with me.

And in this moment I am SO elated, I can't even think to remember that after 2 years together, you left me; you haven't spoken to me in 9 days; that I haven't seen your face in nearly 2 weeks time.

The "Characters" in this bar are certainly of the caliber you would dream up for one of your short stories. And so I feel as though I have been written into one of them. Huddled around our tables in loud animated groups, or milling around the bar scoping the scene, waiting for friends to arrive. We are all so achingly real, so beautiful in that instant of startling naked realism. It's that kind of quality you so easily evoke with your words and I am left dumbstruck by comparison.

My heart should be breaking into a thousand splintered pieces made of diamonds and steel wool. I should be crying, sobbing at home alone. I should be miserable that we are not together.

But tonight I am filled with the babbling frenzy of sound floating about this room
I am fluttering above it all in the folds of the Irish and Scottish flags which hang above me. Ironically they split me down the middle, just like my heritage. I am remembering Ireland and La Boca Argentina in the instant because I SWEAR I can hear someone speaking with an Irish accent nearby.

I am marveling at the thick stylized wooden columns holding up the ceiling to this place above us. Their bronze and mustard tones smiling all around. Even the bricks are warm and winking at me from between slanted pieces of cherry stained pine mounted to the wall. All along the Watchtower gives way to a fuzzy spot of radio babble, the violent exit solo echos in my ears and I reach for my notebook and pen with frenzied hands.

I have to tell you all about this because you should be here with me, smiling, talking to everyone while our feet stick idly to the worn concrete floor which shows all the colors it has every been in the spots most shuffled across. The smell of pizza, burger grease, and stale cigarette smoke climbs into my senses, it is adding texture and reality to this place that feels like I pulled it out of one of my fantasies. A skinny man wearing a plaid shirt, baggy drab pants, and a black fedora over his loosely curling length of dark hair is holding a baby in his arms at the bar.

He is talking with the bartender about his pizza and the little girl is smiling and wriggling in her pink pajamas like a guppy. His voice is the kind I expects belongs to a man who listens to acid jazz rock, grunge, and music that most do not appreciate. You would be fast friends with this man. Over someone's high pitched cackle Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band comes on. The insistent cymbals mirror my excited heart beat. This is too rich. WHERE ARE YOU?!! You should be here with me. We should be worrying and fussing over which piece we should each read tonight. You should have your pen racing across the page with me. YOU SHOULD BE HERE! I pray you'll let me take you here someday with me. Because surely I have found my new home for every Wednesday night henceforth.

The James Connolly quote on the far wall across the bar from me is winking at me. Just then "Don't You Forget About Me" plays and I laugh out loud. WHAT IS THIS PLACE? It is any wonder that in the midst of a day like this so filled with serendipity and your presence I seem half crazed? I am exalted, this is more like myself than I have felt in weeks, months, I don't even know when. They are asking for people to sign up for Slam readings tonight. They are drawing numbers from a small rusted tin box. I am not amongst them tonight, but soon I will be. They are writing down their names for the MC on a clipboard and some are exchanging hugs, some nervous glances, some confident aloof smiles. The cherry sign that reads "Berkeley Slam" in bright colors akin to some cheer squad sign hangs in front of a green curtain at the back of the platform.

The stage is low and small, just enough room for a band and nothing much more. The lights above cast a rosy blanket of light upon the waiting stage. Soon it will be dark and the only space of light will be that stage. Soon the crowded sounds of beer glasses, music, spoons, Mrs.Robinson on the radio, and people chattering as they fill up the bar will hush; then cease. Soon, the only sound will be the voice of the poet on stage, slamming our ears with sound. Fleet wood Mac's Thunder only happens when it's raining comes on the radio and I stare longingly at the stage. Some Wednesday I'll be up there I promise myself. I'm tired of hiding, being nervous, who cares if I fuck up?

At least I'll know I did something for once, participated, made my mark, instead of sitting by and recording everyone else around me. Let the tongue tied trip ups come, let them all laugh at me when I stumble or hiccup. Soon it will pass, because I won't be a doe eyed novice for long. I'll get seasoned, find my flow and slam every hump day I can to hell and gone. I am at a place called the Starry Plow, a bar you would love, and I'm calling you out.

Fuck this drama between us, let me bring you here. You just have to see this place.

Forty One And Half 03.25.10

I will be the spirit of torpid love for you. Because our trapeze artist toes are tingling with excitement, but this wire is new to us, I will not jostle the wire as we walk across from each end to each other. This is a balancing act. And I appreciate the gravity that could carry me down again to the straw strewn floor below us. Just now, there is no safety net. The only safety net below us is the distance that keeps our hearts blooming for each other with the promise of the future we might share together someday. But it is flimsy just now, and transparent. Giving the illusion that it does not exist. We are not ready yet, to jump and let the net appear.

And so I will be sure of supine foot, clinging my toes to this wire which is made of our heartstrings. I don't want you to lock up with tremors and slip away over the edge of the wire. I don't want you to fall until the net is ready to catch you. I understand, this progress, this practice for the final act in the three ring circus of our love must be enacted slowly. I understand that just now, we must use the balancing pole. We must find the center for ourselves and also with each other. We must steady ourselves before we approach the edge. Each foot must be placed upon the steel coil. Shifting our weight from the hind leg to the forefront and stilling ourselves in balance we will take each step forward. With purpose and confidence we will still belong to the world of gravity, but over time we will master it with grave and fluid movement.

We must not look into the void and be frightened by the height. We must realize there is no reason to fear now as we are only working the slack rope in our own quarters. Each time we talk, we will scale to the heights of the high wire and rehearse our aerial feats of equilibrium. And when we do see each other, these will be our finest performances. Wearing feathers and sparkling jewels we will not look away from the depths of each others eyes as we dance across the wire to each other. We will use our focus and devotion to the art form to elevate it to the greatest heights of lissomeness. I want you to know, I will not overwhelm you with my strength, I only wish to display my sincerity of heart without reserve that is not deserved. These are the acts that build that crimson web below us. So that on the night that we render that most fantastical circus act between our hearts, we will know we can finally jump and the net will catch us in a love that will hold us in health, security, and permanence.

I want you to know, I am working on my balance, strengthening my core every night. I am becoming more and more that pillar of unfailing integrity. I am burgeoning with unshakable fluid poise. When we practice again, you will barely feel the wire tremble underneath my feline toes. And if you should feel shaky feet, just still yourself and breath deeply. Look into my eyes and see, I know we are on this wire together, and I will not disturb your composure unnecessarily while we are perched on it. And you know, you can always descend to the safety of the solid ground and I will still clasp my hands to yours and bow, grateful for the practice you afforded me to build towards our most magnificent acts of lofty telephone wire ballet.

Forty One 03.25.10

Today I will break with my usual custom. Today, I write you two letters. The first is an unnecessary purge of emotion. You'll have to excuse it, for once again, I can't really keep much of anything from you in the end.

My heart wants to believe everything is right and running its course. It wants to be easy and sure the way I know it to be. It wants for calm moments of certainty and clarity because they allow me to view you as you are: breathtaking, resplendent, wondrous. But my brain, my brain is an organ of an entirely different nature. It is broken with doubt and shards of glass wedge themselves in deep, slicing through its meninges with an almost surgical precision. This is where the confusion sets in. I don't even want to pretend that I'm asking you to foster some inappropriate bond with me. I know better than to do that. I know better than to ask for more validation after what you gave me Sunday night.

I heard you, "It will take more time." I heard you repeat it like a mantra and I understood. But I also remember the way you said you would contact me, closer to this weekend. I keep thinking now, the memories of that night might be all I have to hold onto in the end. I keep trying to train myself not to revert back to old habits letting doubt stab deep and with it spreading panic like a wildfire across my heart. I keep trying to say to my brain: "Be still, you don't have to have all the answers now, be patient."

I keep hearing the tone of your voice in my head the way you spoke to me on Sunday night. I keep remembering the words you spoke with such conviction. I can see it now, the way you looked me straight in the eye unwavering, and told me your secret heartfelt truths you had kept hidden from me for so long. And I know deep down, although you are a fantastic actress, you have always been a shit liar. I know you wouldn't dare say those things to me unless you felt them and meant them. But I still keep falling over on my ass. I'm knocked completely off balance by the shock when I recollect how you persisted in bringing these little acts of intimacy we once engaged in so regularly to the surface: asking me to push your glasses up onto the bridge of your nose for you, caterpillar eater, cheek vampire, eating my nose, Anchor Man quotes, playing with my hair, and holding me so tightly to you in my arms. Don't mistake, I am not saying I have a single solitary regret, I couldn't ever. That night is like a beacon for me in a raging sea. So please don't take it back, I don't want these moments stolen from my grasp.

The fact you were invoking what I thought before that was a love between us that had grown stale and devoid of the promise of ever being rekindled was like a miracle before my doubting Thomas eyes. I keep recalling the way you told me, you wanted me to chase you. And then I keep thinking, what the fuck am I doing? I keep thinking every time I flirt with you and it goes unrequited I must have misheard you on Sunday. I keep trying to go back and play that night back in my mind over and over, looking for the clues where you were really saying "fuck off." Instead of "I want you to chase me." I keep thinking I must be the proverbial Fool in the tarot card if I was ever thinking that you would spare me a millisecond of your time after that night. You have grander projects that require your focus than to cater to me and my insecurity over my love for you. You have hammerhead sharks to fillet, and people that don't complicate your existence with their needy emotional baggage.

I'm just trying to find the right way to communicate with you. I've tried a few tricks up my sleeves, you liked the carrier pigeons. But you didn't care much for the smoke signals. When I send you raptors you note their plumage with your sparkling eyes. But my telegrams go unanswered, just the "stop" at the end of the message ringing back to me while this feeling squeezes around my throat. It's a riddle I am still trying to solve, what's too much, what's too little? How do I make you smile and welcome me back into your life again? I'm not rushing it, but I'm just looking for the next stepping stone to jump on to cross these troubled waters.

You assure me you'll put me in my place if I go too far, I have yet to see you pull back and unleash the sting of your backhand across my cheek. I have yet to see you recoil and leave me dangling on the end of a disconnected phone line. But there are moments where I swear I am like the Fox in Aesop's fables jumping for grapes and snapping my jaws at dead air. Silence. You give me pockets of silence and I feel them like turbulence. Other times, you send me multitudinous words, a cacophony of sound from your brain via text message. I wonder if this is just some silly game in the end. But the things you contact me for, they seem real. They seem like you are giving me the window into your life I wanted so badly before. And I am grateful like a follower who has found their messiah at least, I am grateful you let me in now at all. You come to me for mirth and support. You send me random snapshots of your day, as if to say "I want you here," and "over there."


But when I try to get closer, or move the picture into focus, you retreat. Am I being too coy? Is that it? Is my chase too subtle? Do you want more grand proclamations? Because I have no issue mustering earthquakes and volcanoes for you. They erupt, spouting my love for you at least a dozen times a day. I could send you thunderstorm bearing violet forking tongues that would scream from the heavens how much I adore you. I could upend any fool that stood in your way with the whipping winds of my hurricane love for you. But it's this thing...It's the acute awareness I have that you are a sexy independent capable woman. I would never thrust myself on you unless you gave me a green light to do it winking at me from your dimpled smile.

I am just going to have to trust in the organ that works for me best, the one that sought you out in the first place. The one that still keeps me tied to you despite the effects of the poor chemistry of my brain. I'm going to have to just trust, that what is in my heart is right. I'll send you my warmth and my passion, and I'll let your words grace my ears in whatever form they take. I'm going to just have to send you my sweetmeats piece by piece with my carrier pigeons and my raptors. I'll leave the smoke signals and the telegrams to be damned. I just hope soon you'll feel more comfortable to tie a silver ribbon of parchment to the feet of those dear birds of mine and send some messages that are clearer back. Not from your brain dear love, but your heart.

Forty 03.24.10

Is it possible that already 40 days have transpired? It feels as though I was under a spell now. It is as if I spent the last two years of my life gliding through a blinding world of supreme enchantment. I stumbled through a doorway in time and into another world where I called you mine and felt you reflect that heartfelt sentiment back to me. This world I was living in was all vibrant colors, every shade of the spectrum glittering. And there were sounds there, and beasts too fantastical to mention that prayed on my fears and sometimes made me take flight. But you were quick to reach out then, and steady my hand. You were there to pull away the ruffling golden palm fronds to reveal miniature purple rabbits with bright blue tusks. When I cowered at the edge of a fuschia pond, you would bend down and gently clear away the yellow water lilies to show me how tiny gasoline colored fish flew around bio-luminescent anemones. And my eyes grew wide with the strange new beauty you showed me was living all around us.

You gave me clear vision to see it; infecting my sight with the way you can look at a heap of garbage and find the sparkle of tinsel in its sagging form. With your hand in mine, I grew to know the taste of courage. Things that may have given me reason for fright like the moss green wart hogs as large as elephants bristling in the sunset we would sometimes wander past soon lost their magnitude when I viewed them through your spectacles. I found then, you were bewitching me with your ways. But I was the stubborn fool, and attempted to recoil once again. Ever patient, you attempted to tease the tangled mass of pain and the wire of indifference from my ears; you don't know how much you worked the knot loose. In the end, when you walked away, the last of it slid from my head with a sickening pop.

Leaving that scattered trail of tattered twine and rusted wire in your wake, you left me stranded in a world I had forgotten was once my home. I was thrust into a world of black and gray tones. No colors shone brightly, save for the moon's silver glare. And now my ears found deafness graced them once again, because I did not have your voice to fill them. All that I had was the sounds of my sobbing to drown out the silence which signaled you were gone. There were no strange beasts here to amaze and startle. There were only black as midnight tigers and starving charcoal wolves to close in around me. But I couldn't even see them coming, because I had lost that sight you gave me.

My heart spun frantically like a compass with no true north to point to; No true love to call my own. I was dizzy and reeling with the miserable waves of motion sickness that your absence rocked me with. And yet, through some strange quirk of fate, I remained tied to you. When it seemed like all should crumble to dust and blow away in this colorblind wind, I felt my love surge for you stronger than ever. I cannot explain why, even in the midst of the void, my heart beat sure and true for your grace. This time, you broke the spell in two, divesting half of it upon me, and keeping half of it for you. I believe when you exited my life you cast your final spell. You tied my heartstrings to your nimble fingers. Now you can play me like a harp along their tensile strings even though you remain far from view.

Even though I have lost my way in this wilderness of non-chromatic nightmares, I have heard your voice singing sweet songs to my harp string heart in recent days. I swear, I had a vision of you recently, held tightly in my arms your lips pressed against mine. In that moment, even though the dark of night was spreading all around us, I saw for the first time in 37 days that the world was awash with color again. It seeped in slowly; sliding down and bleeding into every tree limb and alighting in your rust color tresses. When your lips met with mine the world was overblown with tinctures my eyes smarted from they were so bold. And when I heard you say I was your soul mate and you would be mine once more my eyes exploded with the sensation of sight tears nearly spilling from them.

I had to wake up from that dreamworld, carried away by time and distance. My heart still longs for your minstrel hands to return and pluck upon its strings. And since that day you have sent me words, almost too many, not to have my heart explode like a piano dropped on its end from a very tall height. Slowly the borders of my vision reek with color and I find myself looking for that doorway back into your dimension of dreams and fantasy. Will you see me again? Or must I only look for you in dreams when slumber takes me? Whatever you decide, I pray your spell does not break over me soon. Let it linger, let it play softly on my harpsichord heart with only the magic that your words and your countenance can stir. You told me not to break the seal of my soul to yours and so I beg you, sweet Queen of Morpheus, never break your seal to mine. For having seen now what a life without the colors you bring is comprised of, I am certain is surely my personal hell.

Thirty Nine 03.23.10

Crimson lava flows through my veins, but they call it blood. You have sent me your pulchritudinous words, mistakenly thinking that the contact is an innocent gesture. But I...I smell you, little girl. Yes just as that night before last in the dark I smelled your arousal long before I let my greedy fingertips graced your heat. Long before I parted your red riding cloak to reveal your heaving bosom to my fevered lips, I smelled you as you wandered closer and closer to my curious snout.

You are certainly scratching the unmuzzled wolf behind the ears. And although I will not growl or snap at your ivory fingers, I will certainly snarl. And my, how I howl for you. You'll never truly understand the things you do to me, turning an otherwise civilized brain to the rot of feral instinct. I want to you to tame me, for it is truly you and you alone who is responsible for this unfettered wild thrumming through my veins now.

My mien is all but twisted up in the most precocious of venial stares. I want you, like a predator wants for carrion when their stomach as sunken with hunger. I want you, as I would gnaw open bones and split sinew just to taste the iron tang of blood upon my lips. I want you, the way the phantom notes of your sex's scent linger now on my fingers, my lips, and dance across my tongue.

I am salivating at the very thought. Let me come to you, trotting on cat pawed toes soundlessly through the night's fog. Let me come to you, light silver fur speckled in the moonlight, glinting off my hulking form. Let me come to you, and I will show you how I adore the taste of your red meat. You have unleashed the carnivore in me, and all too knowingly, I know you actively fan the flames of this timeless desire.

You are all too aware, I would wager, what you are doing in this game of cat and mouse. But let us not forget, I am no mouse. And you are not a timid house cat. We are surely a pair of beasts if ever there were that are suited to either kill or create in our union. Let it come, I call the tempest. Bring me your hands, and your throat, let me tear at them with all my wet places. Let me slide my teeth across your muscled flesh and pick them clean with the jagged edges of your bones.

Let me hear you curse at me and claw your hand up the wall again, looking for anything solid to hold onto. Let me crush you against me as I did that night, pressing your throat closed with my fingers, letting you know you can trust this savage beast although rabid you have made me. For since you are my mistress, only you have tamed me this way. Only to you, do I bow in subservience. Only for you, do I hunger and howl.

Send me more words my sweet, see what flows from my lips back to your velvet ears. Marvel at the passion you ignite within me if you will, but don't dare ignore it. It is your duty since you have made me this lawless to come and break me. Bridle me back to a place of tender love and gentleness with your caresses. Only the sound of your soothing voice, and the feel of your fingers through my hair can save me now. Only the feel of your bosom pressed against me and your quivering nexus dancing on my vulgar tongue can quell this unruly thirst for the essence I smelled and then tasted on my fingers the night before last.

Come, my sweet, pet your unmuzzled wolf. See how my eyes shine for you and my ears perk every which way for the sound of your gasping panting moans. Come, give me more of your words, and do not be afraid if you hear the heat of my breath along the nape of your neck because of it. I assure you, as you already know, my bite is far sweeter than my bark.

Thirty Eight 03.22.10

Your words echo through my heart tonight. I remember all that you said, every look, every kiss. My soul is light up like the bonfires of old that would celebrate the Spring Equinox. That same Vernal Equinox that marks our anniversary. Now we have passed from Winter into Spring and with it ushered in a new time of growth.

As if in ancient custom, we have planted these seeds of love in an empty basket. They will take time, dear love, to sprout, to blossom. I am aware of this, but now that we have entered the spring, each day will grow longer and longer; begging these seeds to germinate and then erupt through the surface of the warming soil. When their green shoots come forth, I will tie them with red ribbons as my ancestors would have. I will place them on the graves of my dead, to show them that which I have come to know so well from loving you. Life conquers death, and love can transcend sorrow.

You and I, we have been ordained by the very Gods above to be together. Although I know now, that will take time to unfold. I remain as ever, in spirit, in heart, in mind, in body and soul: YOURS. Ask what you will of me and I will give it all too gladly, for my heart only knows how it beats your name ceaselessly. My arms selfishly crave your warm embrace reflected within them. But I am not so weak as to imagine that all things which are good are not worth waiting for.

I have told you, and I mean it with every fiber of my being, I will give you the gift of time. I have nothing but that to give you, nothing but that, and the love which swells in my heart for you more and more each day. I know that not all is right between us, I know this is only the beginning on a set of paths which I hope will lead us back to one another. I am as you have said, your soul mate, and that is reflected in my quest for truth and the life I desire. We are on a journey right now, separate, but never far from each other's hearts.

Again, you should have no lasting fears that I will rush you into anything. I know that the chase is sweet and it will offer all that we wish in the end. Make no mistake, I will chase you. And I will win your heart in the end, back in my rightful hands to love and remain as devoted to as I have ever been, in perpetuity. But I know it would not possess the thrill or exhilaration of a true chase if I did not give you a decent head start. So go, be free on the wind, rainbows of ribbons bearing each color of spring flowing through your hair.

Go, and start this race so that I might track you down and woo you once more. Let it be all the things you are wanting, let me display all that my arms have to offer, from a distance. Until you are ready to return to your home in my heart. I will send you words, all bearing my love for you. I will send you trinkets and treasures, so that you know all roads I have crossed while carrying you with me in my bosom. I will send you my love, so that you know, even if we cannot have it be presently all that we wish it to be in the end, it is still here waiting for you.

Do not worry dear love, I am going no where that you cannot find me. Remember that which I said to you. I have given you my heart, and you can keep it for it wishes to have no other home. And I am counting on what you showed me last night was true, your heart is mine, just as mine is yours. We are tied together through this love, one puzzle piece reflecting the other. You said there's not a puzzle that only posses two pieces, but you were wrong. There is one, one that I can think of which reflects what we have so dearly: a taijitu.

It is the diagram of ultimate power, a cycle, made of two elements which reflect each other. Our forms constantly interact, they can never exist in absolute stasis without the other. And what they reflect is the essence of life. The interaction of the two gives birth to things, just as the Springtime now upon us gives birth to every living thing through warmth and glittering sunlight.

We are meant to transform one another. You are the moon to my oceanic tides, stirring movement within me. This force is the reason every whisper of water along the shoreline is reflected in a surge that then ebbs. It is the reason the rise of every cresting wave transforms into a the way the breakers fall against the sands. You are the sunlight that plays across a mountainside. And I am the cradling earth which holds your rays aloft on my peaks, or shelters your shade in my valleys.

Do not fear for a moment that this means we cannot live without each other during this journey, we can and we will. And my love for you will never die, or wither, or waiver. I have no regrets about what passed between us last night, I will treasure it always as a gift. I will remember those moments I spent comforted in your arms, swooning from your kiss, and exploding from your firey passion. Of course, I will long for more moments like that to return to us. But I am giving you this time, it is my sincerest gift to you. Do not fear beckoning me into your life again, I can respect that my visits represent just that, visits I am priviledged to have. I will not count it as a sign of return until you proclaim it. In the meantime, all that I have to give you is my love when you ask for it and time that you request.

Time will reveal all to you my love, my ardor for you can only blossom with time. I am sealed to you, and so I remain as always, yours. Time will show you all that you need to discover. Time will reveal the way that change can come between us, but as long as our hearts sing true and sweet, there is always Springtime to welcome you back to my arms. So go, chase off into the distance in this sunlight and be stunned by the beauty that surrounds you. I will be with you soon enough when the time is right, to share in the brilliance of this vista, my hand in yours once more.

Thirty Seven 03.21.10

You have whispered my name into the night air and I have heard it as the sound of bugles blaring in the distance. I am fast to my steed, for I know what this call signals.

The hunt is on.

You have called to me with your heart and I have seen its red glow guiding me through the night scape like a beacon. I have come on the back of thundering hooves and arrived at your side, my horse quivering and frothing at the mouth. My, you are ever a wonder to me, but tonight you truly took my breath away. The sensation of shock coursed straight through me when you opened the door and I saw the smile in your eyes.

I am not sure then, if you saw was passed from my eyes to yours in that instant: I love you. It was strange to me, yet oddly as I expected it would be. That we should slip into conversation easily. That it was as fluid as it ever was. As if no real time had passed at all and just being in your presence, just talking with you, afforded me the comfort I had been craving all along.

I do not have words to express how painful it was to have so much to say, and have the walls still between us. But as we spoke more, as we spent more time together, I began to see those walls crumble brick by brick to the ground. And when you touched me, my soul felt electric. Every nerve stood on end as you ran your finger tips over my hair line to push away the straw colored fringe and reveal my tattoo to your eyes.

My heart leapt at your caress, and my skin burned where you had touched me as if branded by your mark. As I knelt there, it felt fitting, kneeling before you as if you were a regal queen seated on your throne. And there I was bowed before you, head lowered in servitude, awaiting your approval to rise. Yes you are truly the empress of my heart and I would kneel at your side or place my head upon the chopping block at your command.

I was so filled with longing then, I wanted to whisper to you, "touch me again, never stop." But instead I sat again across from you and tried to do what I had come to do, to say goodbye and sever ties so you could be rid of me and my pathetic overflowing undying love for you. The ultimate irony: you wouldn't let me. And try as I might to wedge distance between us then, you would not let me waiver. I found myself sinking then, sliding away from my resolve to thrust myself from you. I found myself then kneeling at your feet in my mind and begging you to love me back the way I knew you did.

When you asked me if you could hug me after opening your anniversary presents I was so conflicted. I shouldn't let you touch me, it might be too confusing for you, and I want to be someone you see clearly. Someone you know you can love clearly. But I knew, I couldn't resist your healing embrace. So when you wound your arms around me and pressed me close, I felt fire sweep through me. Calming healing waves of flickering forked tongue flames poured over me with warmth, serenity, love, and desire. You deepened the embrace and I could feel my heart melt into yours. Don't ever let me go I wanted to say, but I couldn't. My heart pounded at my chest and my head swam. I could smell your scent and feel your body back where I have been missing it all this time, your heart pressed tightly to mine.

I was surprised that you made me insist that you stop touching me. That even after we pulled away, your face lingered near mine. I couldn't help but touch your hair, your face. It was too tender a moment not to give in and lead with my heart instead of my head. So then we set off, because as you would soon find out, I needed cigarettes but also something to have in my hands. Something to keep me from touching you. Because the moment I did, I knew I couldn't stop. As we walked I wanted to hold you in my arms. I wanted to reach for your hand and feel your fingers curl between mine.

My heart was screaming to me, let me lead. But my head fought for control. We talked, and I wondered what you would reveal with time. I wondered how much time you would give me in the end. But I found myself relinquishing, surrendering all control to the moment and just basking in your presence. By the time we got to the park, I knew in my mind, I would chase you. I knew you might run, and I knew you might hide. But I saw what I thought was a sparkle in your eyes. I swore your soul winked to mine and said "tag! your it!"

I would never have guessed that the night would end up as it did. That you would let fly from your lips the words that you said. Or that I was ever foolish enough to try to tell you I would let you go. I adore you, I always want you. As I said tonight, I will chase you. So be ready sweet, because tonight was the first of many to come. As I told you tonight, you tell me how long you want me. And when you come back I will show you, I have EVERYTHING you want here in these ribs to offer you.

EVERYTHING.

In the meantime, I give you the gift of time. I ask only that you not abuse it. Do not become a stranger. Do not bar me from your heart entirely if that is where you truly wish for me to reside. Let me visit you while you make this journey love. And you may call me whenever you wish. I will fly to your side just as I did tonight. And you should know now, I will chase you until I breathe my dying breath.

Thirty Six 03.20.10

Today's date has always been one that I have looked forward to with bliss since I met you. But strangley enough we are not celebrating together today the way we used to. I am remembering last year and how much fun I had with you at my side. I recall the way we gathered our friends about us, and fussed together over a meal that we both made by hand to serve them. And I remember as we sat down to dinner that night, to celebrate with our loved ones, the thought occurred to me: What if my life was just like this forever, would I enjoy that? The answer to that question was yes. That was the moment I knew, I hoped we would spend the rest of our lives together as partners, soulmates, wives, and dearest friends.

I had never had a partner like you before, one that shared so much, all of life's triumphs and tribulations with those around her. And even our union you seemed perfectly pleased to embrace and toast with our closest friends. I adore that spirit of giving that resides within you. Perhaps it was just my fear, or my need to protect you from harm that caused me to try to help you hone your judgement over time about who you let in that closely. You are like a rare jewel to me, full of wonder and beauty and life, and I wanted to share that with everyone. But I know, some people, including myself, are not always worthy to share in that energy.

Not everyone can value you the ways you deserve all the time, not even yourself. But I like to think, that in some ways I tried always to show you how much you meant to me. That I sometimes failed to do so in the right ways but always strove to display that I really did care about and adore you so very much. You were always a gift, a remarkable gift that wandered into my life. Kismet: your coming into contact with me was no mere accident. I do believe that fate itself ordained it should be, even if in the end, it was only for a short while. But still, the time I spent at your side was always precious to me.

The last two years have been a rollercoaster of change and turbulence for us both. We have both lost friends and gained new ones. We have both had triumphs worth celebrating. We have both experienced loss and needed to grieve. And now we both possess hope for our futures. I apologize for all the wrong doings I may have directed at you or myself during that time. I ask forgiveness for the stubborn dogmatic viewpoints I held onto out of need to protect myself from the threats I thought were sure to come. I ask forgiveness for the sometimes scathing verbal abuse I directed at you when I couldn't find a healthier way to communicate what I was thinking or feeling. Above all, I ask forgiveness and release from the fact that you might have seen me as overly controlling or insensitive to you when really I was just trying to offer you my advice, no matter how flawed I was. I see now, that is not always what you needed. And I, was not always right in the way I looked at things.

Hindsight can bring such sweet clarity. And I look back on the last two years now with such a glowing sense of happiness. It was not always perfect, it was not always healthy, but it was ours. For what it is worth, I had the most happiness with you than I have ever had in any relationship I have been in thus far. I would be lying if I said anything otherwise. Being with you, knowing you, having your friendship and your love gave me such joy at times I could not comprehend it fully. Like a dog trained to kill once it scents blood, my education in relationships and romance has been a violent one. I had come to associate happiness with struggle and strife. I had come to associate my future with aniexty and fear. I had come to associate love with conflict and mayhem.

It was not until I met you, and allowed you into my heart that I started to see, these things were not really set in stone. Change is good, and so is growth. Uncertainty can mean possibility. Comfort and optimism offer me healing and laughter. That is one of the things I miss most about being around you, my days are not nearly filled with the abundance of laughter you used to bring into it. I still laugh, I still enjoy my time on this planet, and I still share my mirth with others. I am liberating myself more and more each day from the pain of my past and walking bravely into the future with my heart to guide me now. I have to thank you for bestowing me with the example for this behavior. But it is true, that since you have gone, my days do not possess the same kind of laughter that once danced all around the edges even when we fought.

I know this is probably inappropriate of me to say, especially since tomorrow I am coming to sever ties with you so that we can move into healing and happiness, but I want to say it to you because I believe it requires recognition. A toast to you my once sweet love, to your beauty, your grace, your intellect, and your indominable spirit. A toast to you my once truest love, may you always know that my heart is grateful to you and wishes you joy. A toast to you for your continued happiness and success, even if we never meet again, I hope you know I love you in so many innumberable ways. A toast to you, and to us, and all that we have been through together.

Happy Anniversery.

Thirty Five 03.19.10

There's a kind of quiet that descends in the nighttime that doesn't reveal itself during the activity of the day. It used to be a space I could not encounter without so much sorrow, panic, and grief when you first left me. Now it is a time I use for introspection. During this time, I am able to still my mind and meditate. I can examine my thoughts in this comforting silence. It is as if I am stilled by the hushed and heavy breathing of all the sleeping souls that surround me during these hours.

I lie still, growing more and more comfortable with solitude. This is not to say I am isolating myself. That is certainly not the case as I am more alive and active in the world that surrounds me than I can remember being in a long, long time. No I am definitely the spirit of motion during my days. But during the night time I find stillness and repose. I rest and return to myself so that I can encounter my emotions, my thoughts, and process the activities I am filling my days with. This time allows me so much insight. I can see clearly which acts are made as conscious decisions and which might be viewed as needless impulse. This reflection allows me to decide which activities I wish to engage in truly, and which I don for sake of mere distraction.

My days lately are filled with so many surprises. Some of them are brilliant encounters and some of them are truly challenging to my soul. Despite this, the rumination I engage helps me to articulate how I am feeling about these things, how I am reacting, and more importantly why I am emoting this way. The cause and effect are tethered to each other, together they create the reaction. To separate them, to compartmentalize them, is to bury my head in the sand. It is not enough to know how I feel, but why I feel the way I do. I exercise this ritual of cogitation to bring about more self awareness. Using the knowledge I glean from this, I then attempt to examine how this affects my behaviors. Sometimes the epiphanies are startling. Sometimes they remain hidden from view. Irregardless, I continue to contemplate and attempt to tease the reason from my mind.

When I rub up against something that proves more challenging for me to fully understand or address with lasting healing, I bring these thoughts to my therapy sessions and begin to find the tools to cope. However, my growth does not end there. I continue to work out these issues in my own time and further solidify my new awareness. When it helps me to heal, I ask for assistance from others around me. I communicate my needs to others in ways that are more mature and come from a place of healing instead of criticism manufactured to protect myself. I use these emotions and thoughts to transcend to a new future by turning them into something constructive rather than destructive as I have in the past. I outlet them through my writing, or I use other creative outlets to focus my feelings away from a place of pain or confusion.

I center myself in clarity and self actualization. Yes this time alone now has become so important to me, so beneficial to my growth. This is the time I use to review and assess all that passes behind me, in front of me, and before me. And this time is slowly but surely bringing me more peace and hope than I have ever felt in my heart. My soul is growing more strong and secure each day. I am so grateful to be learning these lessons. In spite of the uncertainty of so many things happening in my environment now that ordinarily would cause me to withdraw into desperation and pain, I am continuing to reflect and to find motivation to change. I am learning how to speak to myself in silence so that I know the best way forward to my goals.

This silence affords me so many gifts, and the noise of my day fills me with smile and promise. Silent prayer eases me into a place of complacency and calm. I feel myself smile as I lay there, knowing that although it can all seem overwhelming for it to be happening at once, I am learning that I am indeed up to the task. The quiet has stilled me and I can finally hear my own voice.

Thirty Four 03.18.10

You have agreed to see me on Sunday evening. I have only a little time to tell you that which I wish to say and then make my exit. I hope that this is not holding you in too much suspense. I can only say in advance: please do not feel guilty for anything. Guilt is not an emotion I wish to manufacture or inspire in your mind. Please, be at ease. I am not coming to hurt you. I am coming to set us free.

I am wondering what you must think now, as time affords you distance, perspective, and hindsight. Is there anything you would like to reflect to me that you think might offer yourself healing? Is there anything that you would like to ask of me that would help you reach resolution? These words might be difficult to say, but would in the end best be said so that we can each move on and let the real healing begin. Think on it if you will, so that when I do arrive we can each express ourselves wholly, and also listen, really listen to what is said. It is your choice to say or ask what you will, and I will leave it to you. I do not wish to force hands, only to shake them with respect and a departure that is on good terms.

I will not come with preconceptions lodged in my ears. I will not turn what you say into what I would have liked to heard before. I will listen, really hear what you have to say with an open mind and clarity. All that lays before us is uncharted. There should not be trepidation in this, but rather excitement. Let it be a thing of catharsis. There is hope for goodness and respect between us yet. I would like to offer you a last gesture of goodwill and then leave you to your journey. I would like to find honest release so that I will not linger, but rather move on to my path.

This will be our last goodbye. You should not feel motivated out of obligation or guilt, but rather out of an honest desire to do what is right. Please, try to dislodge your discomfort. Be easy with my presence. It will this and then no more. This is the ripping of the band aid off the wound, so that it can breathe. It will not have to be smothered by security blankets or feelings of unease. It will not have to be covered over to hide the pain that should be receding for each of us. Truly, I hope that the pain is receding for you. I know that in my heart, it is fading away.

I would like to be left with truth and good memories, not lingering doubts or hovering ghosts. I will not send you more souvenirs from my life because I know that might provide distraction. I will not make attempts to see you after this because I know that might not offer us the distance we both need now to let go. I will not reach out to you as I have with my palm upturned because just like that night in my car, I know you will not reach back. Rather, I will keep my heart in your trophy case, but I will walk away with empty ribs and soon a new heart will grow there. One that is solely mine and healthier for it. And perhaps someday, some distant day in the future I will find someone that would like to share it with me. I will be able to give it to them and know it is was made whole on its own by the hard work and self reflection I go through now.

I will not send you wishes for us to be together again that way. But I will still send you healing energy. I will still send you joy, and happiness because I would like you to find those things and have them be lasting. I will still send you peace and tranquility, no anger, no malice, no spite. I will not send you fictions and fabrications. I will send you truth and beauty, because I know those things will set you free of any pain we have unleashed upon each other. I will send you gratitude because it is because of you that I have been laid before this road to wellness. But it is my own feet now that will carry me down that path. I am surprised at how far I have come already now that I am no longer resistant. I am encouraged by this new growth that is burgeoning within me.

I am wanting the same for you, and I know that the longer I stay and wait for entry back into your life it will not truly be able to be granted to me. We must break free, break clean, and go our separate ways. Hopefully, we are able to compliment each others lives someday as friends, or perhaps we will be able to just be comfortable in each others presence should we see each other again. As it stands now, that is not possibility. That is why, even though you have been resistant to it, I have asked you kindly and patiently, please let us do this so that nothing else stands in our way. Let there be no obscurity. Let there be no perception of dominance or control. I so desire for you to set me free of that place.

I hear the way you have spoken to me recently, like you are SURE I am trying to bend you to a will that is not yours. I am sorry if by some actions you perceived me as such during our relationship. I want you to know, I never really wanted to control you. I never wanted to tell you how to think or how to be. I only want you to be happy. I only want you to embrace and know yourself. If I stand in the way of you doing that, let me exit graciously so that you can see, I am not attempting to bind you to me. I will unseal my energy from you. I will reverse and resend it back to myself so that I can have my soul's light back in its rightful place. A place it belongs because it is truly wanted there.

Perhaps you have no desire to ever have me in your life again. Perhaps you never wish to be friends. If you do feel that way, and you wish to exercise your choice to voice that knowledge, please let it be spoken. There is no reason to hide anything if you do not wish to. You may share whatever you wish and no more. I ask only for you to give what you want in this last act between us. Then I will be away and you can be everything you want without worrying about me. Then you and I, can be as free as we wish and enjoy all that freedom has to offer. I hang a star for each inch across the heavens winking at us for our own wishes for our own futures, separate, but nonetheless valid and real.

Thirty Three 03.17.10

You are like an algebra problem to me. Dressing yourself up in letters that change constantly so that I cannot find any resolution to this conundrum. You clothe yourself in riddle and keep my eyes from the truth of who you are. And I am left confused. Not because I don't know where to go from here, I know where I am going to go. But I don't know how to take the unfamiliar and attach it to something familiar in my world.

You are like a new person I have met, and without knowing your name I am speaking to you. I am introducing myself and still left wondering what to call you. What to speak when I call you by name. Before I learn your name, I have to call you by something to get to know you. At first you called yourself Sasha. Now I stare at the jagged X between us, the Y written out in curving lettering, the drooling lazy Z sliding off the page and out of view in watery transparent ink. I just want to know your name, what your value it bears so we can both be more specific. I just want to be able to call you by your real moniker and know that when I speak it, it's valid and true.

It is likewise for the letters I see in an algebra equation. I have never been upset by them, I see them as a challenge. Ever a clever detective I enjoy solving the riddle to discover the value of "X." When I view you now, I see you like that letter with numbers attached to your sides. I would like to multiply them, as I know I should, or perhaps divide them if that is what the equation dictates. But I can't even begin to clutter up my scratch paper with these calculations because I don't know what your X should stand for. Letters like these “Xs”, “Ys”, or "Zs", however you choose to represent yourself now are used to as a placeholder. They represent an unknown number, but a number none the less.

This newsprint of variables you have wrapped yourself in now, it still has a value. A lowest common denominator, and that unknown number is called a variable. If I read you as simply as "Your age in years y plus 5 is equal to eight times my age, minus 182." It would make about as much sense as a Lewis Carrol problem. The Y can be solved for, eventually it will be found out. But why, bear the y, instead of your true value. Why hide the value with a variable. Why not just reveal yourself. When have I ever been frightened away by anything you showed me?

Do you honestly believe that after all that has passed between us the simple value of a variable would make me divest myself of your presence? It is just as I said to you the other day. Why would I delude myself into believe that happiness and love between us means you have to lie to me and be dishonest? You think I would believe that staying with me if you didn't want to would be good for either of us? I want you to be happy, that is how I care about you. But I would rather know the real truth, than hide in an illusion. Now mystery is all you afford me. And I can't for the life of me understand WHY you might think it's better to omit and cover up your value with a placeholder that represents the unknown than to just reveal the hidden value and let us see each other as we really are.

Solving this problem, revealing the variables is the only thing that will allow us to ever mean anything to each other again. I am not speaking of love anymore. Not in the sense of the words Agape, or Eros, or Storge. I am not foolish enough to contend any longer that Agape or Eros flow between us now, no it is not that. I am speaking of Philia. The only thing that would bind us together now is the repose of a virtuous kind of love that bears the spirit of friendship. It carries with it a kind of loyalty and requires virtue, equality and familiarity. It is the spirit of love between friends, family and community. But if you cannot divulge the value to your variables, then we do not have honesty between us. And so we can never be anything more than a memory to each other. You will become one of those equations I practiced in elementary school or high school and never could solve.

You'll float around my mind when I am trying to get to sleep some nights in the future, your "Y" running through my head like a heartbeat. I will always wonder why one side consisted of a two numbers and a math operation, and the other side only consist of a number. But I'll know, when I do the math out, they mean the same. The equation will balance out. Even if we use variables like nicknames. I will know that the nickname still equals you. If I call you by that name or your real name you would answer just the same. To put it plainly, you might go by another name than I used to call you but this one truth will remain the same…different names same person.

Alas, I still have no idea how to find the value of "Y" in the above equation you have poured yourself into. But I know a bit about fact families. I know they can show the relationship between two families if I use addition and subtraction or multiplication and division. There are four facts included in each fact family. In this equation that stands between us now they are: Honesty, artifice, loyalty, and aversion. You may never afford me the value to the variable on your own. I may have to solve the equation by myself. But it will be a sad day when I do, because then I will know for some reason you left unsaid: you let the spirit of Philia between us atrophy and with it my hopes to continue to have you in my life ever, even as a friend.