Sapiosexual

I love your mind
The thoughts flitting from your lips to my ears
A most fascinating mechanism-
The logic processing-
Enthralled by the calculations
The outcome, astronomical.

Shinier than any diamond
More precious than any luxury
The wit as sharp as a blade
The humor snapping like a whip
Leaps of vulgarity in innocent consequence
Each word a gold doubloon.

They ask me if I’m an ass man
Ass man? Ask man,
Are you not a breast man?
Thigh man? Hips, legs and curves man?
Wingman?
Nah, man.

Challenge and debate
Philosophy not pontificate
Fantasy and desire
I can light your world on fire
Let me make love to your brain
Leave behind the sex, if it’s all the same…

 

 

Listings via Craig

She says she’s looking for companionship,
Quite possibly a friend;
She says she wants to cuddle
And maybe, hold hands.

She says she’s looking for somebody,
That just might be the one.
She says, she’s open for conversation,
But not for sordid fun.

She knows what she’s looking for,
She knows just what to get;
Ain’t looking for a bummer,
Just trains that stay on track.

She has a slew of hobbies,
That tick off all the boxes;
She has a string of commands,
There ain’t no compromise -yet.

She isn’t very lonely,
But she sure could use a hand;
She’s looking for somebody,
Who knows just what to get.

She says she wants to take her time
And make this mission work;
She says she’s looking for relationships
Not just someone to hurt.

She says she’s willing to take the time
Give her own fair chance;
She’ll measure twice and cut once
Don’t count the steps, just dance.

She whispers to weakness
Beguiles the unbeloved;
She tempts the sullen bride
To leave her veil uncovered.

She beckons to the broader world
With open unlost reveal;
Does she mean to be this open
And expose all that she feels?

She spoke the words that rattled cages
Lit hope in darkened mists;
Remembering just in time
That this is just a written list.

Whether she is real or not
I know my limitations
Imagined or realistic
My confidence is mere imitations.

Hampered by my own demise
How could I extend candidacy?
A life going nowhere, a body abhorred
This dream is naught but idiocy.

So close the window, escape her words
And shake loose the thoughts of desire;
Tell Craig to leave us be
Lest she learns that we are liars.

Real or not, rattled in my cage
For once I wondered whether
I could be less detestable;
If only I could lose my tethers…

Life as He Knows it

He wakes up, head throbbing with pain
Barely questioning the why of feelings obtained;
Brain checks out of the morning routine
Just get out the door, sight unseen.

Get to a place he can truly despise
Do all he can to not close his eyes;
Hope for a better change of pace
Knowing he’ll never leave this place.

Glaze through it all, abide by the rules
Unique to him, enforced by the fools;
Staring out the window of his prison
Giving up hope than anyone will ever listen.

Is it time yet to go? No, not even close
Sit back and try to just make it the most;
Exhaustion creeps in, slowing the run
Regardless of wind, rain or sun.

And when he finally is free, finally home
Weariness drags, he just wants to be alone;
Pass out in bed, wake up at night
Try to make do with the boredom in sight.

He makes do with the empty dial tones
Of strangers hanging up their telephones;
Candles flickering with an anemic glow,
Somewhere in the darkness, a bell tolls.

He shivers –here –with his empty arms
A vagabond bereft of all his charms;
He knows how it ends, he knows how it goes
He knows how this story comes to a close.

It ends in the morning when the sun comes up
After midmorning showers and chipped teacups;
It ends with him walking out the door
Taking a flight, to never return anymore.

It ends on the shores of a silvery day,
When crustaceans and dolphins come out to play;
It ends, not with an echoing scream or a bang-
But the drawn out silence after the last bell rang.

 

Hoarding

To work on letting go of items, not people
Is an exercise in thoughtful deliberation
We value people but possessions are so comforting
In a strangely satisfactory way.

Constant review and edit
Like a book that will never publish,
We continue to sort, and sort, and sort again;
To trash, to donate, to give away.

“Maybe I will use this tomorrow
Maybe I will use this never
I have never used this, but may-
Sometime very soon.”

A nest of intention, surrounded by degradation
What coulda, shoulda, woulda been
Potential wasted, rotted, decayed
A world lost to time and indecision.

He worries that without her
You will regress to this state
Of holding on to things
To block out the reality of your loss.

In the damp and dark
Rust and decay
All the pieces of the past
Simply pass away….

Choking and Can’t Stop

Oh, the words!!

The words constantly floating in the back of my throat.
Don’t choke
Screams and shouts and anger and goats
Legit, goats, and men that stare at them

 

This has nothing to do with you. You are extra.

Fodder.

 

It feels like I’m drowning.
Bubbles for words
Swim past my lips
As you stare back at me
Through the glass walls
In my prison of silence.

 

I Miss… I Crave-

The tease of the ivory keys caressing my fingers
Swaying to the lullaby of the notes so precious
And ever present -they take me away
To a magical realm of sight and sound and harmony;
I want to return to the space of silence and meditation,
The resonance of the chords, the light aria of the melodies,
The foundational left to the playful and free right;
Together, sound the partnership,
Play a perfection,
Bring the heavens of the sky closer;
Sight unseen, yet I can hear them sing,
My heart beats wildly, my breath -an afterthought
As all I can hear, all I can see is the sound of emotion
Pouring from my heart to those ivory keys.

The mystery: how can your notes still give meaning to my effort
And my emotion?
Written hundreds of years ago, what a gift!
So beautiful still, so relevant still,
Salvation in my darkest hours…still…

These hands are so rusty now
Like metal in the rain, they are misshapen
And slow, eeking out a painful melody
Echoing a memory of perfection and speed
Ahhh, how it torments me!
But I can’t stop.
Broken I may be, but in no less way talented
The memories of ear and muscle return
I just work twice as hard now.

I no longer curse the gifts I do not own
I now cherish the talents I have been bestown.
But now, am I the pianist or the swooner?
Does it matter? It is no risk to be beguiled by the arts,
To be drawn aloft by the emoted voices of the keys.
Keys? Yes, keys
They unlock this rusty soul and alight the musty rooms
With passion so palpable, the heart bursts
With color and taste so potent
Even the brain cannot put it into words…

Give me the eyes to see
The total count of fingers to play
The full scope of memory and technique
To bring it all to life
Again.

Once again, once again,
Grant me the privilege to grace your keys
With my fingers…
Once again allow me to be in your presence;
Let us renew our partnership
Let us be one -together- again…
Sweep aside the guilt and time
And let us renew our passions-
Let us dance as we once did
Let our desire fold us, each into one another,
Let us lose ourselves to the beauty of possession,
Twirl to the heights of rabid obsession
Just you and I…

Perserve Dignity

Because you feel slighted,
Your whole world is blighted;
Scorched earth is your creed.

As the flames burn brighter,
Your own inner fighter
Pummels ghosts of rage.

Your glasses distorted;
All words are reported
As attacks on you.

Suggestions are rebels,
Ideas… an uprise;
Fear bolts the old doors.

To flush out the evil,
Fabricate. Medieval
Torture finds the truth.

You need persecution,
-A fake execution-
To achieve some peace?

So fragile, so threatened,
Yet deeply unvetted
Insecurities…

Vast, vengeful library
Is this necessary?
Obliterate foes.

Wash your world, cleanse the view,
Victim? Not likely you;
Be a damn adult.

Perspective is a tale,
Of alliances that fail;
Allies seem villains.

When the bridges all burn
I am not your concern;
Burn it all to hell.

Take high roads, less crowded,
Dodge drama unshrouded;
Treasure dignity.

You, your own enemy;
Lies and bad memory
Fulfill your own doom.

Hasn’t happened yet

He walks through the door,
He brought the sketch;
Crinkled paper in sweaty palms.
The bell jingles as he enters,
The buzz like a soft whine;
He stares in your eyes-
“Make it good,” he says,
Make it bleed, he thinks.

You shrug, he nods,
He doesn’t even know where to put it;
How could he pack in 12 years of pain
Into one simple ink blot?

He can explain it all,
The elements and what they stand for:
The flames, the ice picks, the daggers,
The blood, the pitchfork,
The black heart, the devil wings,
A final halo…

Salt slick skin on his upper lip,
He didn’t know what to expect
Pain in spades and hinted regrets;
Adding art, subtracting perfection;
He’s a fuck up anyway, gotta own that shit
He is who he is.

And color cancels pigmentation
The final asphyxiation
Turns purple into blue,
And white into black.
Tell him, seraphim,
What light do you have to shine
On this dark, foreboding day?
Useless sour kisses and lemon juice tears.

Blinking his eyes open to a new day,
Ignoring the crumpled paper
Clenched in his fist like an unfinished prayer;
Does it monument his past
Or his future? He stares in the mirror
Of false accusation, or is it a condemnation?
But, then again, it’s all the same
Yesterday is today tomorrow…

To the Owl

I want to write letters to you.
Telling you how strong and brave you are;
And how I wish I could be like you,
Or even, be you…

How odd that our lives always seem better from the other side
Of the one-way mirror.

How unfortunate too,
That you will regard my words as fiction
And leave my messages unread.

Perhaps I do not bring better memories,
Or, I am the unpleasant reminder;
Ignorance keeps me the unwanted spector
An unhappy spectator.

Regardless, the gears must turn,
And the falcon must return to the sun;
Lest the whole world should come undone.

Justify

In the quiet of my mind, I have no need
To justify, to explain, to defend.
It’s just my thoughts, my knowledge
My complete and utter trust,
My complete and utter devotion.

The chess board floats in the koi pond;
Don’t be shy, approach the zen garden,
And comb the sands for diamonds;
The flame flickers in the brazier,
Sharpen your tools and wait.

Whose fault? Your fault.
Fault is a line, and a line is the distance
Between two points.