all the light we cannot see…
when time is spent…
Once, I met a man and I very nearly came the first time he entered me. I rode this man but I didn’t love him; I loved how his cock made me feel. He filled me beyond anything I’d ever known before.
A bird sits on my windowsill.
It fluffs its feathers and waits for others to arrive.
It doesn’t look up at the sun.
It sees me through my window and it simply serenades.
Many times, I made a man I (once) loved cum. I looked into his eyes as we filled one another; I looked because I saw him for who he was and still found joy. His lies filled me beyond anything I’d ever known before.
Sometimes we sleepwalk
Daylight fluffs its nighttime wings and whispers.
Someone traces secrets in the air that we cannot quite hear.
We blind ourselves – as one with the deaf and dumb.
I cry your name in deepest pleasure. I pull you close and feel impossibly new. The breath I once thought my own, rides the wind over water, through trees of cedar, under bark. I sit and see truth.
In life we are undone.
In waking-dreams we are made new.
With the right person, healing happens
But first, we must awaken.
the encounter…
(enchanted by this strange proximity)
Longing, and mystery, and delight…
as if from the swaying blackness
of some slow-motion masquerade
onto the dim bridge you came.And night flowed, and silent there floated
into its satin streams
that black mask’s wolf-like profile
and those tender lips of yours.And under the chestnuts, along the canal
you passed, luring me askance.
What did my heart discern in you,
how did you move me so?In your momentary tenderness,
or in the changing contour of your shoulders,
did I experience a dim sketch
of other — irrevocable — encounters?Perhaps romantic pity
led you to understand
what had set trembling that arrow
now piercing through my verse?I know nothing. Strangely
the verse vibrates, and in it, an arrow…
Perhaps you, still nameless, were
the genuine, the awaited one?But sorrow not yet quite cried out
perturbed our starry hour.
Into the night returned the double fissure
of your eyes, eyes not yet illumed.For long? For ever? Far off
I wander, and strain to hear
the movement of the stars above our encounter
and what if you are to be my fate…Longing, and mystery, and delight,
and like a distant supplication…
My heart must travel on.
But if you are to be my fate…— Vladimir Nabokov —
translated by Olga Voronina
each letter is truth…
I don’t know how to write love letters.
But I wanted to tell you that my whole being opened for you.Since I fell in love with you everything is transformed
and is full of beauty…
love is like an aroma, like a current, like rain.
You know, my sky, you rain on me
and I, like the earth, receive you.
— Frida Kahlo —