I.
She said, “You could talk the pants off of me,”
I said, “But you aren’t wearing any.”
She said, “See.”
II.
“I met you when I was 14.”
I tried not to remind her how old I was now.
“I knew then we’d always be close.”
Years later, this conversation took place
She is jailbait no more.
She has kids
And an asshole ex
The type of which I encounter more often than not
These days
As a man about town
Where women have exs, children, bills
A smidgeon of spare time
Men have issues
And nights are long
In my arms confessing all.
In a town where my conquests, my flirtations
My formers and coulda-beens
Exist as much through the ether
As in real time face-to-face
Hip-to-hip horizontal bop.
Long distance lovers and dreamers and thieves
Who steal into my dreams and disappear
In the light of day
Or don’t.
She takes pictures for a living
Something I encouraged
A talented eye to try.
Now I look at shots of her
Through the years
And yearn for stories
And more.
We share sexy confessions late at night
She quietly listens
As my voices lowers near whisper
I hear her breath quicken
And she’ll coo in that warm musty voice of hers
Which strikes sparks
From my paused pontificating
As she murmurs
“I’m soaked. Tell me more…”
III.
Three dark sirens
And me strapped to the mast
Willing
Ready
Leaning into their songs.
The first doesn’t sing as much as scream
Panting at the slapping tide
Crashing against her hips
Stinging spots soft from neglect
Her eyes glazed in trance
Having waited for this storm
To rear up and spit its pent-up fury
In her anxious direction.
The second doesn’t sing
As much as dance the silent sound
Around
Serpentine ballet of illusion
Mystery
And pulls songs from around her
Where reflected
Become her own.
She is echo maker.
Creating bounceback
Riptide
Magnetic lunar tug
and light.
The sound that reaches
Here last
Shines as light vibrates
With sound
As creation is energized light
Fliting so quickly
Our eyes see nothing
But radiant
Blinding beauty
Youth of sound and movement
Danced and reflected
Spun like silk thru the tumultuous air
Shaking all still
In attentive embrace of the song.
But too fresh
To grasp the full effect.
Beauty reflects beauty
Reflects beauty
Dashed
To the ancient
Craggy sea.
IV.
Still autumn falls
In spite of our best efforts
In spite of hurried dreams
Storms brew and hit landfall
Floods, quakes
Minor heartbreaks
Blow up your inflatables
Man those paddles
We’re heading to the sea
On a river of you and me.
V.
There are healers
Squealers
Blatant revealers
Circling round my grizzled mop
Wallflowers
Awful towers
Of mismatched powers
Struggling over linguistics
Logistics
And wasted hours.
Tantalizing
Rope tricks
Some Willing Rogers lusty
Ribald
Knotty tales
Spinning captured
Words of rapturous
Love
Snakeskin boots
Apple corps.
Hanging
On this lion’s
Roar.
There are mysterians
Leaving c-c-cryptic massages
Red flesh handprint language
Moist code
To be deciphered
Mulled over
Questioned.
Just come clean.
Where were you on the night of…
Torturous inquisitions
Surveyed
Sexy
What ifs and what ares
Who dids and who didn’ts
Hands behind your back
Gimme some truth, baby
Confess
Melt down
Blab
What you need
Right now
All I ask
Amidst the charade
Is the ghost of reality
A taste on your lips.
~ September 8-10, BBC for Minx, Tiny, Ms. C, Ringer, SubB
