I'm following you with bottles and ribbons. Don't look. They're rattling all over the place, and it's messy. Really messy.
I'm also following you with a murder of crows, and a whipped cream pie with your name on it. In cherry sauce.
I'm following you with adorati(more)on and splendor. I'm one crushing, being crushed by the weight of my affection. For you, darling.
I'm following you with reflections. Little mirrors and tall mirrors and round mirrors find you as you walk along an avenue or apply lipstick. Plum was the color of yesterday.
Sometimes, I stop and watch dogs just to see if they chase their tales.
I'm working up the courage to speak with you. Learn your name, untangle myself from all these ribbons. It's messy, really.
I'd like very much to hear your words, smelling espresso on them. Or absinthe.
Three weeks ago, when one of my crows collided head-on with an old cyclist, I touched your hand. You leaned down to look at me. I turned away, too emotional due to the crow.
"Poor boy," you said, and walked away.
At night, I dream of you as an enormous woman. I mount the summit of your right breast as thought it were a hill and slide down the sunlight on your skin. I'm crushing, and something, during such dreams, I am crushed.
Now with your back, now with your thighs, now with your buttocks...
And now with your tongue, your eyes, and your name.
We've been here before. Sweat settles on your brow. Population: 576.
Sex is tough, but a pleasure. This is harder. The crimp of rock betwe(more)en your forefinger and thumb feels like golem's nose, all brittle and stern.
Rock climbing, to be fair, has been your thing. You're almost talented. Almost.
Now with your grace and your love and your multilingual vocabulary, curse yourself, the rock and pull yourself the fuck up there.
Resting after a victory in which you exhausted yourself is a pleasure not too dissimilar from that found in pulling a steamboat over a mountain or learning a new language. Perspective changes. The river moves out there like the street, full of little flashing lights. (less)
We lay wounded and facing the sea. Above us, marble columns were falling. I told her I loved her, and her eyes looked at me roundly, like candies. Two of them, and pretty.
In the moment before the smashing of our skulls, I tried to embody her gaze(more), to get a feeling of what she felt and thought of me.
She first saw me on a ship. I must have looked a skeleton in comparison to the bronzed and battle-tested men around me. But when I felt her gaze snap onto mine that first day, it was as though I had found a snowball in the Sahara. Startling.
Her first words to me: Where's your sword?
I didn't have one, of course. Being an indentured servant following a shameful and disgraceful love affair, I arrived at the island destitute. But just seeing her -- the marvel of her movement (all wind in the willows) -- was an elixir: one more potent and addicting than one I'd ever known.
After years of work and silence, I learned her name. And the next time I spoke to her, she learned mine, as it was written on the sheath of my sword.
One night, she grabbed my arm in the palace courtyard. We drank wine. Our footsteps in the halls mixed with the music of fountains. Arabesques in moonlight. The next morning, we ate oranges.
She never kissed me. She'd just tell me about the men she'd loved, and I tell her of the women I'd loved. Never have I believed in God, but to her I wanted to speak in tongues, in language able to cleanse my awful affection.
Looking into her eyes before death, I see myself in love with her. Enraged, I want to throw my sword in the sea. (less)
I came to you with wood and nails, glue and a pile of dreams. You said we should start with a sand castle. I responded with joy -- jumping rope wildly.
After the sand castle came the cruise ship; after the cruise ship came the sea. We were(more) ambitious. We put our lips to the lava, blew on it. Islands formed. Then came the mountains, dug out canoes and stands selling gelato and ice cream.
One night, I took you to a cove. You dipped your finger in the water. Lights like little stars flashing under dark waves. The tiny organisms mirrored the studs on Orion's belt. We felt happy. I whispered in your ear: sand castle.
After a kiss came the Mississippi. After the Mississippi came Minneapolis. We are now happening upon a revelation: that of stars falling slowly, slowly.
We have taken it upon ourselves to understand, to construct and trigger wonder. We lie awake under constellations, our mouths full of snow. (less)