our souls are there, but everything else hasn't caught up yet.
different places in time.
you were leaving
just as i arrived.

i want this figured out whatever it is. the ebbs and flows. the distance and the diseased.
growth is far needed and personal embrace is long overdue. too caught up within the petty and dramatic.
too caught up with the hearts that have torn themselves away from the head.
what we create is dangerous and beautiful simultaneously.
sometimes it scares me shitless.
reconnection would be ideal. of self and of soul. of all that has been withheld from a passionate embrace and instead comes cascading out as something less than what we both would like. we hold no compromise. not yet.
i just want to be self-satisfied. in balance with my heart in mind.
a desire to regain the all-familiar good energy. nothing has been radiating from me as of late. it's disheartening and causing one too many rifts.
figure this out, little girl. or send yrself home.

the rain is falling heavy outside, i sit half naked, my breasts smell of ginger root. yr sitting upon the couch, playing two things at once, they are colliding with one another. coffee is steeping on the stove. i sit in the corner of the bedroom, as i usually do. we each have our space in this small house. it won't be ours for much longer, we must take it in as we can. i woke up to a mural painted upon the attic wall this weekend. a self-portrait intertwined with the likes of me. together, holding a heart. dated this year, twothousandandnine. the year we changed our history together. a year to think about all the histories we are about to change. yrs. mine. ours. distance. space. time. seven minutes i wait for the coffee. we take it french pressed. black. waiting for a date of two into two at the hour of nine. we're falling into numbers this evening. yrs double mine.
i write in rhythmic circles. get up and serve you yr coffee in the white mug. "thank you" without looking up. too fixed upon that twelve by sixteen screen.
my guts hurt, even after that bath. teaches me better than to eat foods i am positively allergic too. childish one. the one who waits up nights for you, while you close the bar and crawl into bed beside me smelling of smoke. the smell would taste much more delicious on yr lips than in yr hair. i sigh and roll my backside into you.
i should get dressed, but i hate putting on clothes. i had a revelation in the tub, mid-soak. my body held a bulk to it again. the heaviest weight i've ever been. not entirely discomforted by this thought- but enough. enough to look at my calves and thighs a littler harder than i should.
shut up you skinny suburban white girl. you know nothing about bodily angst. you've never weighed a pound over onetwentyfive in yr life. there is not one single reason to validate a finger down yr throat.
if you turn any more thin than that, you might break. broken bones, shattered skulls- do not lose that hold upon yrself. you've got much more control than a sucker to society, digging fingers into pages of modern day images of nothing but death. throw out the magazines. throw out the self-hate. sigh. sigh.
yr body is a battleground.
yr body will be just fine.

i won't even mind the cold this december. my head and heart will be much too busy to notice. this spring i'm going to buy a suitcase. pack everything else away in boxes. give it away. hide things in the parent's closets. keep the dresses and the boots, stuff the suitcases with the clothes and the cameras.  i want to tour the country with you by my side. the windows of Angelina rolled down, drive from one side of Arizona to the other, climb the mountains with our cameras and get naked at the top. fuck in the dry heat of the desert.  get lost in new orleans, see the damage of that hurricane already so many years ago. make love on the streets for beads. cross the border to toronto. montreal. quebec. touch every bit of land in our sister country. see it all, embrace the travels as we can. live our love as a verb, the sound of our sex in every inch of this globe. i want it all with you. i want every experience possible- to run my fingers through every other culture, to dabble just a bit in every language. 

always the dreamer.
never the dream.




until now.

dissolving every last bit of insecurity.
crushing your body like flower petals beneath my weight.
i've been dancing through the forest all night, bare feet on the floor, it smells like burnt incense in between the trees.
i'm lying awake in bed. i don't sleep with this mind- it hardly feels like mine. maybe it does.
i call out at the black sky for you, Aphrodite, my goddess. i cling to yr image. i cling to the idea of a lover so true that the passion outweighs all the ugly inside the world. all we'll have left in our hands is gold. gold in the form of another's fingers intertwined.


this goddess is taking a step back. nonjudgmental, just along for the ride. just passing by.
letting the fluidity of connection come on its own and wash over me without my pursuing.

*sometimes too passionate heads smash together, and turn brains into one muddy mess. sometimes it works out just fine. sometimes, it works to both of our favors. sometimes, we both disintegrate into our own ideas and views of how the world works. neither of us know. it's just fun to play along.*