Hot Guac

 

I remember a night 

we picked up party food.

Prepping in your friend’s kitchen,

we were bantering, and suddenly 

you told me to kiss you. 

I thought you were kidding because 

I believed all the times you 

told me you weren’t ready for something real. 

Weren’t serious. Didn’t feel. 

And our hands were full

of chips, limes, salsa ingredients.

So what I gave was the briefest.

But what I really wanted 

was drop the avocados

press you up against the fridge

and kiss you so fervently

you'd need to change your jockstrap 

every time you think about guacamole. 

Helios

 

I reach towards you gently
in the darkness before you rouse.
The briefest touch,
a whisper seeking warmth.

You wake up shining like the sun.
A certain slant of light
cast golden across the valley of our bed,
dappling my still closed eyes.

We come together then
in your dawning.
I open my eyes
and embrace the day.

Starbright

Every night

I look up at the stars

so dull and tiny as they hide

from the glaring city.

And it's like I take a snapshot 

of the ever darkening sky

and file it away in some secret place.

Where someday I'll make a flip-book in my head

of all the nights I sat alone

in my celestial tribute to you.

And maybe the blurring of the stars

as they whorl and dance 

around inside my skull

will be so magnificently bewildering

that I'll finally forget

that I did it all for you.

OCD

Imagine living your life always feeling like everything you see is

                one centimeter's distance

from its intended location. This overfilled grande caramel macchiato without a lid closer to your arm than expected.

                That brand new crisp white silk blouse already dredging through marinara.

Those tourists cartwheeling with selfie sticks off cliffs like bison mindless in stampede. Really think about how it would affect you.                                      The devastating effects of seeing a slight miscalculation. The panic of impending doom that would permeate your life. Each freeway full of cars crashing together like waves of metal on an asphalt sea.                 Every playground full of kids crying under jungle gyms with broken bones                                                                                                 from just missed rungs. All the buildings in existence ready to collapse (nails missing boards, joints not plumb) like houses of cards, flattening everyone inside. The screaming. The endless screaming. What would it do to a person, that feeling? A constant fear of catastrophe.                              The powerless frustration of everyone thinking you're crazy. Knowing all the wrongs could be prevented if it was moved one centimeter's distance.

Outlines

we are souls unraveled
genies cast from bottles
absence made manifest

we are shadows on the ground
stand behind me and shine
I'll do the same for you

 

Morning

we could wake up like this
every day filtered light
gold through slitted curtains
relentless calls of cardinals
morning wood pressed hard against
disheveled sheets soft stirring 
lips brushing necks
a quickening of breath
arms encircled hands on hearts
a slow stretch 
yawned goodmorning
offer of coffee breakfast
or should we stay here

all day

 

Omen

i see it

hidden in loose thread
sweaters unravelling dried
glue beneath faded wall
paper and cat hair
on black pants it's etched
in ringed cross

sections of trees the spray 

of satellite droplets
splash spilled soup 

patterns and scratch of 

dried tip on sketch 
surge between these
heart beats flash
of color behind
eyelids closed against
sun silence before 

breath passes larynx