Secret Thots for a Very Private Gentleman
tales, temptation, and titillation…
Every woman I have ever loved has left her print upon me, where I loved some invaluable piece of myself apart from me — so different that I had to stretch and grow in order to recognize her. And in that growing, we came to separation, that place where work begins.
— Audre Lorde —
I practice the art of not being chosen in all the ways that happens.
It follows me as a drumbeat set in rhythm to each step,
lightly tapping against my ribs.
I sing in counter melody;
the clouds keep forgetting the chorus.
Everything has become simple.
The perfection of light reflects deep and true.
I close my eyes against the shade and finally see;
memory, a key to a series of finicky handles.
I have seen Beautiful.
(Your pulse is proof.)
I have inhaled Almost-Promise.
I have screamed secrets to the moon:
Besides the wind,
I want only your hands sliding along the smoothest of my inner thigh,
a delicate slip and slide beneath my flitting skirt.
Sometimes our prayers sound exactly like chipping teeth.
Lovers prove false when
re-made in the image of (small) lifetimes built
upon pyres fueled: guilt, fear… shame, and more.
(I think I have a list somewhere around here.)
There is no coming quite like the certainty of going
and staying.
But I am not waiting;
I set down that map long ago,
even before you walked in and out the door.
The unknown:
may it be more than enough,
the very essence of our breath,
the very best yet.
An honorable human relationship — that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word “love” — is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.
It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation.
It is important to do this because in doing so we do justice to our own complexity.
It is important to do this because we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.
— Adrienne Rich —