Put your hands on my knees,
she said,
and think of me as a book you’ve been dying to read.
—Michael Faudet—
if…
Dear Gentle Sir,
When I say your name, my heart rumbles
much like a lion roars when it knows it’s right.
If only we could know the future, we might roar more.
xo
if freckles were lovely, and day was night
and measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie
life would be delight
but things couldn’t go right
for in such a sad plight
i wouldn’t be iif earth was heaven and now was hence
and past was present and false was true
there might be some sense
but I’d be in suspense
for on such a pretense
you wouldn’t be you.if fear was plucky, and globes were square
and dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
things would seem fair
yet they’d all despair
for if here was there
we wouldn’t be we.
— e.e cummings —
fragment…
In fact, the stars orbiting that irresistible moon
Secret away their own luminous forms
Whenever she shines without restraint
Upon the world entire.
— Sappho —
and the walls cum tumblin’ down…
rethinking the rulebook…
I’m pulled to her,
like air when I’m under water.
if i reach out my hand…
When you breathe on me, my body responds with your name. And I want you exactly where you are, the way you are. I want to spread myself so that you can peer deep into my need, and still sing my praises – even as my soul sings yours. I want your tongue to trace every tremor. Our fingers entwine because we meet in the middle, and the force of our meeting – this pushing, and grinding, and moaning into shoulders, necks, thighs, and more – is a blessing I have dreamt of but was afraid to ask for. Your eyes full on mine, now.
Come here.
Be with me.
My sweet lover, my friend.
Cum.
transparente …
i watch my words from a long way off…
magic to make…
“…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper,
irresistible— magic to make the sanest man go mad.”
– Homer –
parable of tomorrow…
Thus with my lips have I denounced you, while my heart,
bleeding within me,
called you tender names.
It was love lashed by its own self that spoke. It was pride half slain that fluttered in the dust. It was my hunger for your love that raged from the housetop,
while my own love,
kneeling in silence, prayed your forgiveness.
– Kahlil Gibran –
