les rêves

it's the 1960s,
i'm sitting at a small cafe table,
on a cobblestone street in France.
it's sunny and my
legs are crossed,
sunglasses on,
hiding my invitation to you.

boardroom beast

the Animal

crosses her legs tightly
and pretends
to exude humanism

without basic instinct.

world war weather

Colonel Winter
sends out his troops:
thousands upon thousands
of angry snowflakes
bitch-slapping their victims
like tiny, wet hands -
the stinging imprint of weather
reddened on the cheeks of the unarmed.

fingers like detectors, lips like old photographs

you might lose your guts
when i tell you
that you were the last.
the last hungry taste
the last sweaty embrace
the last mess of limbs and moans.
And it's not because you were there -
it's because you've always been there.

it's because of you

swimming in this retrospection, i'm thinking about you.
about who you are, and who you've been.
about who you've made me become.
each of you, a different piece of the puzzle that is still puzzling me.

her for spirit
him for fearlessness
her for sexuality
him for hunger
her for brains
him for wisdom
her for comfort
him for desire

touched by all the ways you've touched me, i want that connection.
that reconnection.
i want to stop forgetting how you make me feel.
You, so much more than me.
this is not jealousy, but inspiration.
and if this is a love song, it's because of you.